


ACOMAF Part 2.2: The House of Wind Cont'd (Rhys POV)

by illyriantremors



Series: A Court of Mist and Fury: Rhysand's POV [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rhys POV, The Summer Court, The mortal queens - Freeform, acomaf, jealous feyre, jealous rhys, major angst, sad!cresseida
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriantremors/pseuds/illyriantremors
Summary: Chapters 28-40 of ACOMAF from Rhys's POV.Beginning with Rhys and Feyre's return from visiting her sisters, and following through the trip to the Summer Court and the first visit from the mortal queens.





	1. Chapter 28: Are You All Talk

I winnowed directly from the townhouse in Velaris after dropping Feyre off. I hadn’t even said goodbye to her.

Azriel was waiting.

And so was Cassian, who greeted me deep below the mountains of the Hewn City. So far down in dingy cells and chambers, the only sound heard for miles were the screams Azriel elicited every so often from the Attor under Truth-Teller’s sharp blade.

Feyre could wait. She’d remained icy all through breakfast - and so be it. Right now, this took precedence.

“Anything?”

Cassian picked up the pace beside me as we met in the hall and walked to the prison room. It wasn’t a bar cell like the one Feyre had stayed in, but it gave me a shudder of remembrance all the same. I hadn’t been down here in... a while.

“Fifteen minutes before he told us a task force sent from Hybern had infiltrated our northernmost border,” Cassian informed me, his face a hard line. Still wet drops of silvery blood speckled the gauntlets over his leathers. “ _ Five _ minutes before he admitted to closing in on Illyrian territory with a few other choice beasts.”

Only five minutes.

_ Damn _ .

“Azriel’s in quite the mood,” Cass finished as we reached the door. A whimper sounded behind the wood panel.

“Lucky for us, a mood is just what the occasion calls for.”

Cassian’s grin was razor sharp.

* * *

“It’s done,” I said when I landed in the townhouse living room. Feyre sat on the couch, her feet curled under her as she read. But as soon as she saw me, she was up in flash, eyes all over me. Whatever that meant.

“We learned what we needed to. It’s up to you, Feyre, to decide how much of our methods you want to know about. What you can handle.” Feyre took a deep breath, brow drawn. “What we did to the Attor wasn’t pretty.”

“I want to know everything,” she said, no hesitation even if it was plain she understood the severity of the situation. “Take me there.”

She stepped forward, ready to take off.

“The Attor isn’t in Velaris,” I said. “He was in the Hewn City, in the Court of Nightmares - where it took Azriel less than an hour to break him.” Feyre didn’t so much as flinch. Hard as nails, Cassian would have said. I stepped forward - just one step, giving her the space to change her mind if she wanted. But she held fast. “I’ll show you,” I offered.

And... Feyre closed her eyes.

She watched the memory with perfect ease. Her face only slightly pinched when mention of Tamlin came up, but given the fresh information there it wasn’t surprising.

I showed her the Attor, bruised and bloody on the table. Showed the details he’d let slip both before I arrived and after, including that Hybern had found a way of tracking Feyre’s movements; we just didn’t know how yet. And even went so far as to let her listen to the wails as I exited and Truth-Teller dragged along the veins of the Attor’s wings.

It wasn’t pretty.

But it was effective.

I loosened my hold on Feyre’s mind and watched her as she came out of it, looking for a hint of distress or horror or revulsion for what we’d done. But there was nothing except a glint of rage that earlier this morning had been directed at my chest in the form of talons digging through my leathers against the snow.

“What  _ situation _ with the Spring Court?” she said, staggering back to regain her balance.

“None. As of right now,” I swiftly assured her. And there wasn’t. Everything Azriel had said about the silence of Spring was true. It was only... “But you know how far Tamlin can be driven to... protect what he thinks is his.”

And because Feyre had yet to recover her shields since vacating the premises of my own mind, I saw it: a flash of red paint bruising the elegant paneling of Tamlin’s study and the havoc that had ensued.

Feyre had been forced to block herself that day, the magic driving out of her in ways only her panic and desperation could create. She’d been all alone. Though I’d witnessed enough of it to know.

“I should have sent Mor that day,” I said, not quite able to meet Feyre’s eyes.

She read my shame and stalked toward the stairs. Perhaps she’d had enough mistakes from me for one day to have to add another to the stack.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. The casual sweater she’d changed into sagged over her shoulders. I could still see a bit of bone sticking out at her shoulder.

“Feyre,” I said, reaching... stretching for anything to get her back. She dismissed my call.

_ Done _ .

“I am sorry - about deceiving you earlier.”

She paused, but didn’t turn around as she stared at the bottom step of the stairs. I didn’t know what that meant. Maybe she was deciding if she could ever forgive me.

And then she sighed.

“I need to write a letter.”

* * *

_ I left of my own free will. _

_ I am cared for and safe. I am grateful for all that you did for me, all that you gave. _

_ Please don’t come looking for me. I’m not coming back. _

I read the letter three times before I willed it into the mist to find Azriel. He’d find a way to make sure it found its master regardless of borders and wards.

Tamlin would never believe Feyre had written the letter herself. It was likely he’d be in need of another newly decorated study before he’d even finished reading it, and the bill would likely come addressed to the High Lord of the Night Court - the stupid ass.

But when Feyre had pushed the paper so carefully into my hands, her eyes were grey and rested surer on her face, her shoulders back and straight.

She said she felt  _ cared for _ and  _ safe _ .

A lie to please Tamlin as best she could, or... the truth?

“Are you sure?” I asked her once I’d sent the letter off.

Feyre tilted her chin up determined, and did not blink once. “I am no one’s pet,” she said. This time, it was her own words coming out of her mouth. Not mine.

Beautiful. Wonderful. Resilient Feyre.

“What next?” she asked.

“For what it’s worth, I did actually want to give you a day to rest-”

“Don’t coddle me.” Her lip curled.

“I’m not,” I said, knowing I was skating on thin ice as it was. “And I’d hardly call our encounter this morning  _ rest _ . But you will forgive me if I make assessments on your current physical condition.”

Feyre cocked her head at me, indignant. “I’ll be the person who decides that. What about the Book of Breathings?”

“Once Azriel returns from dealing with the Attor, he’s to put his other skill set to use and infiltrate the mortal queens’ courts to learn where they’re keeping it - and what their plans might be. And as for the half in Prythian... We’ll go to the Summer Court within a few days, if my request to visit is approved. High Lords visiting other courts makes everyone jumpy. We’ll deal with the Book then.”

Feyre would likely leave it there for the night. I waited for her eyes to spit at me that it was true, my punishment from here until Tarquin permitted us entry to his kingdom for offending her. The only question that remained was how long she’d last until there was trust again.

I was just about to step out so she could leave the study and do as she willed with herself when she held my gaze with the force of the sun and finally, that gaze softened into something like the forgiveness I didn’t anticipate she’d extend me so soon.

“You told me that this city was better seen at night,” she said. I inclined my head just slightly, puzzling over the fresh cut to her voice. “Are you all talk, or will you ever bother to show me?”

How I did not stumble over myself and fall at her knees was miracle.

Her skin seemed to glow and her eyes sparkled like diamonds, and I could see the spirit breathing - suddenly  _ living _ \- behind them. It felt like a new chapter. A clean start. And one she was asking me to be a part of somehow.

I looked over her body from the tip of that curt, admonishing chin down to the bare toes that wiggled along the floor, and all the many, many landscapes in between. She did not back down from me once.

A sensational thrill went through me.

_ She’s okay. Feyre would be... okay here. _

It made me smile. It made me laugh. The first true and genuine expression of how I felt about her allowed to bear witness. Feyre did not share the expression, but she was... spicy, a bite of hot cinnamon on the tip of my tongue, ready to abandon her seclusion and step out to see the world - with  _ me _ .

“Dinner,” I said without question. I wanted her. I wanted  _ us. _ “Tonight.” Feyre’s eyes gave that little spark again and it was all I could do not to lean right into her and crash my waves against her own. “Let’s find out if  _ you _ , Feyre darling, are all talk - or if you’ll allow a Lord of Night to take you out on the town.”

* * *

Cassian’s howl rattled through the entire house. I stifled a groan. “I just can’t believe you played the  _ High Lord _ card to get a date out of her,” Cassian said in between fits of laughter.

“Will you stop-” I started to say before Azriel cut me off. Feyre was upstairs getting ready to leave with us. Amren and Mor hadn’t arrived yet. In this tight a space, Feyre might hear anything.

“If we wish to be accurate,” Azriel said, “technically Feyre asked  _ Rhys _ out.”

The hand covering my mouth struck out flat in Az’s direction. “See,” I told Cassian. He rolled his eyes and fell backwards onto the couch, flipping off Azriel as he did so.

“Whatever, that line is still cheesy as hell, Rhys.”

“I don’t see you doing any better,” I ground out.

He moved his thick arms to rest behind his head, a cocky look in the set of his jaw. I half-expected him to kiss his biceps. “I don’t need to.”

Azriel snorted. “Yes, because staring at Nesta’s tits all through dinner counts.”

“I did not!” Cassian flew out of his seat, his stance ready to attack. Azriel looked him over and might have stifled a laugh.

The shadowsinger held his chin up a little higher, confident of his assessment.

“Three times at dinner and  _ five _ at breakfast,” Azriel said. “I know. I counted.”

“You little piece of shadow shit-” Cassian was barking as he swiped at Az, who dodged easily and chuckled. I stepped between them before they could put a dent in a coffee table I was particularly fond of. “I should have known,” Cassian said, straightening up and glaring at Azriel. “You’re never quite so relaxed as when you get to take the piss out of someone - even if it is filth like the Attor.”

“ _ Especially _ if it’s filth like the Attor.” Azriel shrugged. A tiny wisp of darkness whispered at his ear. The shadowsinger smiled. “What can I say? It’s a good day.”

“Hello hello!” Mor’s voice carried like a songbird as she stepped through the door, her dress aflutter at her knees. Cassian’s head rolled back with a groan. “Lovely,” Mor said, giving him a look.

“Morrigan,” I said, nodding toward her.

“Feyre upstairs?”

“Mhm, though she won’t be for long if these dogs don’t stop barking around my living room with their tails out.”

Mor snorted. “I’m disappointed you haven’t realized the company you keep by now, cousin.”

I cleaned a spot on my jacket, brushing some piece of hair or dust away. “That company includes you, you know.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m nice to look at,” she said with her most winning smile. “And damn powerful too.” And then she jerked in the direction of Cassian, who’d fallen back over on the couch. “Unlike some people.”

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is Mor and prove it for a change,” Cassian grumbled, his face buried in the pillows.

The ensuing conversation Feyre walked in on was regrettable at best. A real pissing contest. The chatter had brought her downstairs to check on the status of things, and then promptly sent her right back up.

I didn’t blame her.

Cass and Mor went at it for a long stretch of time until Amren arrived, going round and round in circles over who could fly or winnow farther. Azriel stayed near the window listening, but the few times I caught him looking at his closest friends squabbling on the couch and remembered where the shadows had gone when the door had first opened...

I knew where he’d bet his money in this fight.

“I’m ready,” Feyre said quietly, her voice standing just behind me. A deep scent of grass and pine that had followed her from the Mortal Realms hit me as I turned and saw her bundled up in her thick, blue overcoat that brought out the skies in her eyes.

I smiled, and bowed my head.

And so our first night began.


	2. Chapter 29: Lick You Where Exactly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys takes Feyre out for a night out with the inner circle and sees her dare to live again for the first time. Major paper flirting ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate naming unnamed canon characters, so I'm sorry, but you'll have to deal with the fact that I did not name the restaurant owner. :(

It was like a dream.

I had woken up to a cold, snowy morning in the mortal lands that had resulted in Feyre’s body hurtled on top of mine, her face a sea of rage as she hissed at me and said Velaris would never be her home.

Now, only hours later, we were sitting under the night sky at one of my favorite cafes in the city she’d rebuked, enjoying dinner and conversation with my inner circle. And Feyre seemed pleased to be present for it.

We had walked together from my townhouse - all six of us, Amren included. It took nearly an hour with all the stops we made chatting to passerby, shop owners, pausing for a brief dance through a market square playing music Mor couldn’t resist. Even Azriel seemed in high spirits.

Velaris was well alive tonight. No corner was left untouched from the magic of life and movement.

Feyre had kept quietly to herself as we made our way to the restaurant, a few casual paces behind us. Unlike our first tour together through the city, however, her silence was not a punishment or an attempt to put any of us off. It was merely contemplative, observant - maybe of all the things she had been missing for several months since Tamlin had been keeping her.

I’d done my best to give her space, let her be, but Mor caught me watching her a few times. My cousin bumped into me with a roguish grin and then skittered off to link her arm with Feyre‘s when we turned down the street where we’d be eating. Feyre didn’t pull away.

And she ate more than her fair share of food at dinner when it was laid out - trays and trays of it. None of us ordered after the owner, an old friend of ours we’d visited frequently over the years, had greeted and sat us. She knew what we liked and I was glad to see Feyre liked it too - liked it so much, that she held back her hair when the curry was set down so she could lean forward and inhale the spices with her eyes closed. And when the meats were set at the opposite end of the table dripping with juices and fixings, she asked Cassian if he could pass it so she could have the first bite. If it had been anyone else of us who’d asked him, Cassian would have told us to piss off because that plate was  _ his _ . But he just looked at Feyre, a twinkle in his eye, and said, “Of course.”

Feyre took the plate and nearly scooped half of it onto her own before exchanging it with Mor, who stuck her tongue out at Cassian to taunt him for not getting the plate back. Azriel chuckled quietly next to me. Feyre didn’t notice. She simply looked down, stabbed a tender piece of chicken with her fork, and tried not to smile as she fell into that bite. Overhead, the stars seemed to rattle into brilliant existence.

Dreaming, I’d thought.

I was dreaming.

And Feyre wasn’t just eat to eat. She was eating to live.

“The traders were saying the prices might rise, High Lord,” the owner said quietly to me behind my chair, after checking that the six of us had everything we needed, “especially if rumors about Hybern awakening are correct.”

There was a deep seeded crease across the dark skin of her face. Whatever story Mor had been telling across from me, she paused.

“We’ll find a way to keep the prices from skyrocketing,” I said as casually as I could, examining my wine goblet as I did so. Amren and I would have a discussion on trade in the morning to make sure I kept my promise.

But the owner wriggled upwards on her feet a little as she replied. “Don’t trouble yourself, of course,” she said. “It’s just... so lovely to have such spices available again - now that... that things are better.”

Now that I wasn’t locked away in a prison hell pit for near on fifty years, she meant. So many people Amarantha had cursed taking me under. So many people who were well protected and far, far away, but still suffered the effects of that queen’s reign of terror.

I would fix it. I had to.

So I smiled kindly, hoping to reassure her, and let some of the starlight flutter in my gaze. “I wouldn’t be troubling myself - not when I like your cooking so much.”

She sat back on the heels of her feet and I saw the worry disappear. Mor resumed telling her story that I was only vaguely aware of as relief sank into my chest.

On a normal night, I might have perhaps allowed my mind to drift toward darker thoughts - thoughts of how many other citizens had worries and doubts left for me to qualm that made this lone fae’s appeasement seem insignificant. But... not tonight.

Feyre was squirming in her seat, wiggling around to get a better look at the pretty restaurant owner who was peering down at her. “Is it to your liking?” she asked, nodding to the spread.

Feyre quickly glanced over the table, taking in the near empty plates, many of which she’d polished off herself, and told the owner with a little more pride than I’d heard from her lately, “I’ve lived in the mortal realm, and lived in other courts, but I’ve never had food like this. Food that makes me...” I might have leaned forward waiting for her answer, “feel awake.”

Awake.

Awake?

Food that makes her feel awake. As though she’d been asleep in the darkness for a long, long time. And there was no darkness here tonight.

Only happiness for Feyre. Here. With me and my family and food and drinks and the city and stars.

“Then I’ll bring you a special dessert,” the owner said, beaming at Feyre and taking off to fetch it.

Feyre had a little starlight of her own in her eyes as she maneuvered back around in her seat, and promptly caught me gawking at her like the idiot I was. Her brows went up in silent question, but I only grinned because demons and nightmares and come what may, Feyre was happy tonight in some way. Unaffected, it seemed. Like some little piece of herself had found its way home. And I couldn’t stop marveling at the thought that she’d recovered it here.

Our attention to Mor’s story was short-lived again as the owner returned with Feyre’s dessert and a very unsightly, large goblet full of dark, ruby liquid swirling about that was set in front of Amren. My Second looked up in surprise at the owner as she realized the gift she’d been brought, better than any brooch or pearl I’d ever given her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Amren said, but her voice was anything but dismissive of the gesture.

“It’s fresh and hot, and we needed the beast for tomorrow’s roast, anyway,” was the only reply she received and was then left to either accept the treat or go home without.

Amren took a long, indulgent sip. I didn’t have to see her eyes to feel the warmth and pleasure cackling through her veins at the taste. When she lowered the goblet, all that glorious blood dripped from her teeth. Mor cringed away, but not without a good degree of amusement.

“You spiced it nicely,” Amren said, to which the owner glowed proudly.

“No one leaves my place hungry.”

I crooked at finger at her and pushed a larger bill of cash discreetly into her hand for an amount that probably paid for the meal several times over, but was no less than the lady deserved. “Oh no, I can’t High Lord-” she balked.

“Please do,” I said, pushing her hands and the money away. “Thank the wait staff and the chefs in back for us.”

“But I-”

“And thank  _ you _ , for a decadently perfect evening as always.”

She inhaled sharply. “Oh - you’re going to go home with your pockets still full one of these nights.”

“But not tonight,” I said with a wink. When we left, she kissed me on the cheek in parting, same as she had when we’d arrived. Feyre looked awfully amused watching the exchange.

We made it perhaps twenty feet strolling along the Sidra before Mor danced forward in a twirl prompted by her full stomach. “I want to go dancing,” she said, overtaken with excitement and sudden energy. A true creature of the night. “I won’t be able to fall asleep when I’m this full. Rita’s is right up the street.” She pointed in the appropriate direction, face hopeful.

“I’m in,” was Azriel’s immediate reply, and I couldn’t blame Cassian when he scoffed. He was leaving in a handful of hours for the mortal lands - to see what games the queens had been up to lo these many centuries.

“I’m going back to the restaurant and then home,” Amren said with a sigh behind me, drawing my attention away as my friends sorted themselves out. “I’ll leave you brats to your own amusements, delightful as I’m  _ sure _ they’ll be.”

“But nothing near as delightful as the taste of freshly slaughtered lamb, hmm?” I said, crossing my arms and giving her a knowing look. Her eyes narrowed before those thin lips curled sinfully.

“I’m not sharing, Rhysand. Get your own.”

I stifled a laugh and watched Amren disappear, turning around just in time to see Azriel meeting Cassian up the street while Mor chatted with some acquaintances under the city lanterns.

Feyre appeared beside me looking particularly alarmed that Amren had fled. She didn’t even seem to notice that I was still standing there. “She’s getting more blood in the back to take home with her,” I explained and chuckled when Feyre jumped about a mile high - whether from my close proximity or the truth of Amren’s charades, I didn’t know. “And then she’ll be going right to her apartment to gorge herself.”

“Why blood?” she said, her face a little pale.

“It doesn’t seem polite to ask.” And I didn’t want to know anyhow.

Feyre paused and sank into a glowering expression. “Are  _ you _ going dancing?”

I wanted to laugh at the outright disapproval in her tone as she waited for my answer. I spied Mor and my brothers trotting along farther and farther away, and gave them a little wave to say we weren’t going. “I’d rather walk home,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

A long, miserable day that had somehow righted itself by the end. It was hard to believe only a few hours prior I’d been deep underneath that plunging darkness watching Azriel carve the skin from the Attor’s bones while the horrid thing screamed. I wished I’d let him kill it instead.

Even harder to think that before that, I’d been watching Feyre nearly skin _me_ alive with her own blades, shoving me off in the snow.

Now she stood by me considering, almost as though I were a friend.

“Shall we?” I offered, taking a single step forward. “Or are you too cold?”

Feyre mirrored my step and that was that. We set off. And enjoyed the view of the Sidra beside us as went.

The waters rippled in the wind, like diamonds falling in a cascade from the mines. Those ripples twinkled as brilliantly as the stars overhead. It was cold out, but the city was so alive, so gleaming, that it was hard to notice. Neither Feyre nor myself seemed to walk with much tightness that comes from such a harsh chill.

Feyre watched the Sidra move and snake along carefully. There was a soft reverence about the way she stared that put her face at ease. It was easy to understand why. The other half of the city beyond it - the Rainbow housing the artist’s square - looked richly enchanting under the lights that reflected back at it from the water.

Art. Song. Theater.

All the places Feyre had once wanted to be. She looked like she could almost imagine herself there again. If she did, it wasn’t a bad choice. The artists’ pocket of Velaris was by far the most teaming with dreams and vision, with life and love. All the things that made fighting to keep the cost of spices down and trade bustling in this little city worth it, I thought, as I paused to lean over the railing at the water’s edge.

“This is my favorite view in the city,” I admitted. Feyre came up to the railing and trained her gaze on the quarter of the city she’d balked at a few days ago. “It was my sister’s favorite, too. My father used to have to drag her kicking and screaming out of Velaris, she loved it so much.”

Sometimes, people still told me stories about it - the ones who knew me well enough for it not to feel intrusive when they spoke about my family. I could hardly blame them. It was hard not to when my sister had been such a comical, vibrant little thing in her youth, wailing about and peppering the city with stories that would remain sprinkled about the cobblestones years after she had died.

Feyre’s voice was low, testing. “Then why are both your houses on the other side of the river?”

Two opposing currents of water crashed below us and then calmed into a gentle peace as I thought.

“Because I wanted a quiet street - so I could visit this clamor whenever I wished and then have a home to retreat to.”

And... if I were honest, partly because the townhouse was something I didn’t have until after my family died. There were no memories of them tainting those halls, those rooms, waiting to jump out at me when I came home for the night or woke in the bright morning sun. The artists quarter was entirely too much the opposite.

“You could have just reordered the city,” Feyre suggested.

“Why the hell would I change one thing about this place?”

“Isn’t that what High Lords do? Whatever they please?”

I turned to look at her and wondered why we weren’t touching - she stood so close. Close enough that when she let out a breath and I saw it on the chill wind in front of us, I could have run my fingers through it, like children popping bubbles in the summer. Innocent and pure.

“There are a great many things that I wish to do, and don’t get to,” I said, finding Feyre’s luminous eyes watching me.

“So when you buy jewelry for Amren, is it to keep yourself in her good graces or because you’re - together?”

I burst out laughing, no idea where the question had come from. The sound was so startling, it moved those shimmering, coursing waters beside us into action. “When I was young and stupid, I once invited her to my bed,” I told Feyre, who seemed genuinely unsure about Amren’s place in my court. “She laughed herself hoarse. The jewelry is just because I enjoy buying it for a friend who works hard for me, and has my back when I need it. Staying in her good graces is an added bonus.”

Feyre looked oddly relieved. “And you didn’t marry anyone?”

My stomach tightened as I slumped down a fraction on the railing. “So many questions tonight,” I said, trying to deflect from a fragile confession when the one person I would have wanted to share a life with was standing right next to me without the faintest idea. I sighed when she wouldn’t drop her stare and forced my stomach to loosen the knots inside.

“Marrying me means a life with a target on your back - and if there were offspring, then a life of knowing they’d be hunted from the moment they were conceived. Everyone knows what happened to my family - and my people know that beyond our borders, we are hated.”

Feyre’s expression darkened.

It was the truth. A pure and simple one, and she would have to consider it if she ever... felt something for me. Mate, though she may have been, being with me would mean hardship and running and fighting like hell, skirting death at every turn.

Part of me didn’t want that life for Feyre. I’d probably spend some part of every day wondering if staying in her life was a mistake or not, if only that didn’t take the choice away from her. We’d left Velaris to the mortal lands for a mere day and already she’d been attacked. How much worse would the hunt for Feyre’s life be if she tied herself to me explicitly for the remainder of her years?

“Why?” Feyre asked. “Why are you hated? Why keep the truth of this place secret?” Her eyes turned kind, gentle, as if she could see the pain riddled inside me - for her and my court both. “It’s a shame no one knows about it - what good you do here.”

“There was a time when the Night Court  _ was _ a Court of Nightmares and was ruled from the Hewn City. Long ago.” It had been a terrible time. I didn’t need to be alive to know, to feel that history creeping about the walls of that awful city waiting to spring out and curse me for trying to change those horrors. “But an ancient High Lord had a different vision, and rather than allowing the world to see his territory vulnerable at a time of change, he sealed the borders and staged a coup, eliminating the worst of the courtiers and predators, building Velaris for the dreamers, establishing trade and peace.”

Feyre’s hand tightened on the railing as she listened with rapt attention. And I felt as though maybe she was beginning to understand, to finally see the city and its secrecy, why we’d done what we had to keep it safe these past fifty years.

“To preserve it,” I continued, “he kept it a secret, and so did his offspring, and their offspring. There are many spells on the city itself - laid by him, and his Heirs, that make those who trade here unable to spill our secrets, and grant them adept skills at lying in order to keep the origin of their goods, their ships, hidden from the rest of the world. Rumor has it that ancient High Lord cast his very life’s blood upon the stones and river to keep that spell eternal.

“But along the way, despite his best intentions, darkness grew again - not as bad as it had once been... But bad enough that there is a permanent divide within my court. We allow the world to see the other half, to fear them - so that they might never guess this place thrives here. And we allow the Court of Nightmares to continue, blind to Velaris’s existence, because we know that without them, there are some courts and kingdoms that might strike us. And invade our borders to discover the many, many secrets we’ve kept from the other High Lords and courts these millennia.”

Feyre studied the water churning below, as if she could see the very blood and spells that High Lord had laid to put the spells around Velaris in place. Maybe even  _ feel _ them. Sometimes when I flew circles around the city, even so high up in the air, I thought I could feel them too, keeping me from harm.

“So truly none of the others know?” she asked. “In the other courts?”

“Not a soul. You will not find it on a single map, or mentioned in any book beyond those written here. Perhaps it is our loss to be so contained and isolated, but....” It was worth it. Looking out at the vibrancy and music and lights surrounding us, the city was teaming with victory at every corner. I showed it all to Feyre, laid it at her feet like sand upon the shores of a mighty, endless beach. “My people do not seem to be suffering much for it.”

Silently, Feyre agreed. I wondered if she would ever question the city’s safeguards or my decisions surrounding them again. I had a feeling she wouldn’t.

“Are you worried about Az going to the mortal lands tomorrow?” Another spike of her marvelous curiosity. And one that struck upon something deeply dark and complicated as my fingers played along the railing that rose midway up my stomach.

Somewhere close by, I hoped Azriel was dancing.

“Of course I am,” I said. “But Azriel has infiltrated places far more harrowing than a few mortal courts. He’d find my worrying insulting.”

“Does he mind what he does? Not the spying, I mean. What he did to the Attor today.” We each looked away.

Not the spying - indeed. Azriel’s most dangerous moments weren’t the ones spent outside the Night Court, but the ones spent within. When he was deep within that mountain carrying someone’s life blood underneath his blade, Cassian and I at his back wondering if it wasn’t Azriel’s own lifeblood he saw pooling against the metal.

But he’d never once said ‘no’ or asked for a different job. Sometimes he even seemed to relish the terrible moments if only briefly, even if he let Mor spend a good deal of time soothing him afterward.

“It’s hard to tell with him,” I said, fighting back a tinge of disappointment, “and he’d never tell me. I’ve witnessed Cassian rip apart opponents and then puke his guts up once the carnage stopped, sometimes even mourn them. But Azriel...” Night and day - my brothers. “Cassian tries, I try - but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out.”

Feyre’s eyes lit up at that. She was so close to a smile, one that teased and pushed and prodded merrily along at the promise of possibility. “But he and Mor - they never...?”

Ah - that again.

“That’s between them - and Cassian. I’m not stupid or arrogant enough to get in the middle of it.” Feyre’s  _ near _ -smile fell reluctantly in defeat and I suddenly wished I had told her something more of what she maybe wanted to hear of my two dizzying friends, just to get that look back from her. I pushed off the rail in an offer to continue walking and Feyre accepted.

Her steps were a little heavier the further we went on, the muscles of her legs and mind beginning to finally slack after a hard day’s work. Even the days off were full of questions and dilemmas and puzzles to piece together, it seemed.

How long would she go on like this? It hadn’t been quite a week even. She seemed brighter, a little more relaxed, a little more open. And with each knot that unraveled in her day by day, my chest eased mercifully.

But I knew the weight in her heart - could hear it in the way she spoke or see it in the way she looked. One moment she would flirt and hiss and rave at me - whatever made her forget the pain long enough to remember what living felt like - and the next, she seemed to sink back into those cells Amarantha had locked her in, no hope of getting out.

I wanted that hope for her. She was allowed to be broken, but I hated to think that she would  _ feel _ broken forever. I wanted every night to be like this instead.

My thoughts bubbled and spat so furiously over the prospect, I almost didn’t realize Feyre had slowed her pace. When I turned around to face her, she’d gone utterly still, her gaze fixed on a small group of musicians playing a lilting melody across the street from us.

And my heart suddenly stopped.

I recognized that music. And I swore that it hadn’t caught me sooner. Feyre knew that melody too. I swallowed, my throat gone dry. I’d sent it to her to keep her alive during the trials when she had seemed on the verge of collapse.

Images of that night flooded back to me. I had to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from shaking as I remembered with Feyre whose face was now drawn very tightly.

If I inhaled deeply enough, closed my eyes and listened only to the music, I could still feel the pain from that final night as clearly as if it were happening today.

_ I couldn’t go to her. Couldn’t risk seeing her. I knew I’d have one last chance to see her alone before Amarantha threw her final dagger and I wouldn’t waste it until it became necessary. _

_ But I knew she was rotting away in that cell, dying. I could feel it pulsing through the bond we’d made to save her life - a bond that might not matter in a handful of hours. All of Feyre’s fears were crashing in on her to the point of suffocation. It had hardly felt like force offering her the goblet of wine to drink from night after night, her hands had so greedily fought for it after the second trial. For the first time, I began to doubt that I was doing the right thing keeping her drunk when her mind was full to bursting with grief anyway. _

_ I was alone in my room about to go insane from my inability to save her. Amarantha could sleep with a cold bed this last night. I didn’t know what to do, so I simply did. I latched on to the first sensory memory I could retrieve that wouldn’t cause too much risk and I hurled it at Feyre. Down the vents into her cell, across the bond between our broken hands, came music. _

_ The melody was gripping, haunting, but also hopeful. It was the sound of hard-fought victory, of love and all the things that make life beautiful. It was the sound of home. My home. My sister and my mother. And a great and mighty people. _

_ Velaris. _

_ The melody quaked and rose, rising and breaking in great, sweeping swells that were meant to move and devour the soul. _

_ I could practically feel Feyre’s heart as the blood pried her center apart and restitched it, until the emotions pumped in and out of those valves with every beat. I could taste the salt as it stung her lips from crying. I could feel the warmth in her skin as she clung to the feel of her body. _

_ Tears were all I had left to give, so I let them fall urging her on, hoping she would find something in the melody to inspire her, whether it was her sisters, Tamlin, Lucien, her art - anything to make her want to live. To prove that this wasn’t costing her more unnecessary grief than it did to soothe her soul. _

I shuddered as the stunning vision of Velaris met my opening eyes and matched the allure of itself in the music haunting us in the winter air.

“You.” Feyre breathed the word out of her, her quiet, shocked voice dragging me out of the memory I would not soon forget. She was still staring at the musicians as their chorus played on. “You sent the music into my cell. Why?”

I stood next to her, not daring to see if her face was hurt, if I’d failed her again. “Because you were breaking,” I said shakily. “And I couldn’t find another way to save you.”

“I saw the Night Court,” she said, as if it had been a haven, a foretelling. A glimpse into where she would one day stand and hear the sweet song again.

That took me by surprise, enough that I finally looked at her from the corners of my eyes. And Cauldron’s mercy, she looked somewhat restful. “I didn’t send those images to you.” Even if I’d certainly felt them.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “For everything - for what you did. Then…” and the music slowed, winding down to its beautiful end, “…and now.”

The music stopped entirely and we were left with only the here and now - as Feyre had said. Perhaps the music had been a gift from the Cauldron or the Mother or some unseen force pushing us together - I didn’t know. But it felt like the music had come to remind us briefly of our past purely so it could leave us with this peace between us that was a new beginning of sorts.

“Even after the Weaver?” I chanced asking. Even - “After this morning with my trap for the Attor?”

A little huff of annoyance escaped Feyre as her nostrils flared. “You ruin everything,” she said, but I could have sworn she meant the opposite. And it thrilled me.

I’d drawn close to her as we’d listened to that music, enough that I could smell the pine and grass and sun in her heart again - all these lovely notes that only seemed to bloom when she wasn’t so bothered. Feyre’s body had angled, leaning toward me enough that when her head drooped, it fell against my chest. Her fingers clutched my jacket.

I grabbed her, scooping her up into my arms, cradling her tired body close as we shot into the sky, and was rewarded when she leaned her head willingly against me, something like peace thrumming between us.

And even though I’d dashed that smile from her lips earlier on, it felt like it was there as we flew to the townhouse all the same.

* * *

I stared at the paper and pen sitting on my nightstand for over an hour. On my bed, I sat with my arms crossed, legs resting over one another at the ankles stretched out in front of me. The white ceiling above might as well have been a rainbow of color, it seemed so full of thoughts and wishes and doubts as I debated that page beside me.

Feyre was still awake.

_ But she was tired. _

Though we were - starting over? She’d forgiven me. That much was clear. Which made this all suddenly very new and  _ very _ exciting. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not her head on my chest or the softness of her face as we’d flown.

_ She might go to bed at any moment, and curse me if I sent her anything that disrupted that fragile new peace she gave us tonight. _

But tonight she had eaten. Tonight she had lived. She had walked and wondered and  _ enjoyed _ . She had almost smiled. Not for me, but near enough for me to catch the effects of it.

_ The effects that might utterly disappear if I pushed too far. A life of death and danger was what awaited her if I put the invitation out there. If we stared to - _

She had liked the flying. More than liked it, I had thought. I might have imagined it, but I could have sworn that at one point after hearing that music, as we’d flown to the townhouse and she’d nuzzled just a  _ tad _ into my chest, that her shields had dropped and she’d realized she felt something good up there in the air with me. I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since the moment I’d set her down and said goodnight.

_ But she might- _

Fuck it.

I grabbed the paper and willed myself to slow down enough to neatly scrawl:

_ I might be a shameless flirt, but at least I don’t have a horrible temper. You should come tend to my wounds from our squabble in the snow. I’m bruised all over thanks to you. _

The paper disappeared, followed by the pen, and both came shivering back with lightning speed a few heartbeats later.

_ Go lick your wounds and leave me be _ .

My lips sucked themselves inward.

Not entirely accepting, but not hateful either. No - definitely not hateful. And there was a... curiously intrigued sense of waiting on the other end of the bond.

I left the paper on the bed and opened my door as quietly as I could, peeking down the hall to where Feyre’s room was. Her door was firmly shut, but through the cracks around it, there was still a light glowing from inside.

Still awake.

I smirked and retreated back inside my room, leaving the door ajar just a hair. After far too much thinking for how sober I actually was, I finally sent her my reply and hoped very much she would squirm.

_ I’d much rather you licked my wounds for me. _

The paper disappeared. This time a flicker of excitement trickled down the bond between us. The reply was every bit as good as I had hoped for: _ Lick you where, exactly? _

My lips.

My neck.

My chest.

My fingers in her hair as she trailed lower, her own grazing over my thighs. My stomach would rise and fall in great beats as she reached my navel and one of us undid the ties on my pants.

And knowing Feyre, she would pause and look up at me from over my stomach with a wicked gleam in her eye, would probably tease me because Cauldron knows if the day ever came that I got to play with her, she’d be taunted to death and this was justice served right back to me.

And then those fingers could slide below, hooking into the fabric and sliding it down as her hair falls around her face, her head lowering to lick the smooth muscle at my hips, at my hard, waiting c-

I ran a hand over my face and through my rumpled hair, and wrote.

_ Wherever you want to lick me, Feyre. I’d like to start with “Everywhere,” but I can choose, if necessary. _

The paper was back in a flash.

_ Let’s hope my licking is better than yours. I remember how horrible you were at it Under the Mountain. _

Her own challenge of sorts. I chuckled darkly.

I could flip her. She wouldn’t have any pants or skirts to remove, I decided. No - if I were to have my mate, I wanted her naked and exposed and spread wide for me to gaze at.

Kisses along her calves. Luxurious, slow ones up her thighs. My fingers stroking along the skin to soothe and to play. Feyre’s hips rising as that delicious scent of hers drifted toward me the closer I got.

One lick - just one lick along her...

_ I was under duress. If you want, I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong. I’ve been told I’m very, very good at licking. _

Feyre took her longest pause getting back to me yet. And when she did deign to give me a reply, it was short and to the point:  _ Goodnight. _

And I was still shameless and increasingly horny.

_ Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me. I need my beauty rest _ .

The note did not return. Instead, I felt heat and flame dance between us as Feyre destroyed it and fizzled out the magic. A vulgar gesture flashed between us, intended for me to see or not, I wasn’t sure.

I laughed, winking out the light in the room and tucking myself between the sheets for the night.

The best part about it was how fun it felt to fall asleep and know that, regardless of what happened for Feyre and I, loving someone - maybe even sharing a bed with someone - could be enjoyable for me again one day.


	3. Chapter 30: There Are Different Kinds of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys finds out from Azriel that finding the queen's half of the book isn't going to be easy. They then spar together while Feyre has her first lesson with Cassian and breaks down over her guilt from killing the fae in Amarantha's court.

When Feyre and I landed on the rocky outcropping above the House of Wind for her first sparring lesson, Cassian was already there wrapping his fists, an arrogant grin plastered all over his face. I set Feyre down and her brows rose slowly as she took in Cassian wearing his leathers - all however many pounds of thick, corded muscle of him.

Cassian beckoned Feyre with a single finger. “Good luck,” I managed to sing into her ear before she’d gotten too far. A curt  _ prick _ and adjoining scowl was all the reply I got.

After Cassian showed Feyre how to wrap her hands and wrists to protect the bones and muscles best, he let her finish prepping them and came over to meet me for a brief check-in.

“Are you going to tell me to go easy on her?” Cassian said.

“Not a chance,” I said with a single shake of my head, hands in my pockets.

“Good,” he replied, and that shit-eating grin dropped. “Go in and change into your leathers then. Az’ll be back soon.” I cocked my head to one side. The sun was directly overhead, barely mid-day. Cassian leveled a knowing look at me. “Mor seemed to think it was a good idea to read on the balcony not long after breakfast ended. That was not quite an hour ago.”

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed.”

He clapped me on the shoulder and went back to Feyre who was flexing her hands in the new bandages, testing the new feel of them against her skin. “They’re not paintbrushes,” Cassian barked at her, making her jump. “Get in the ring.” Feyre’s eyes narrowed with a sharp edge to them. I chuckled and took my leave, excited to see how much of Cassian was left standing by the time I came back.

* * *

“Shit.”

I spat the ground behind me before whirling in a quick spin to meet Azriel’s second blow. His sword came down brutally this afternoon.

We’d been going at it for a good hour, possibly even more, Azriel showing no signs of slowing down any time in the near future. To our right, Cassian corrected Feyre on her punches, something I was only vaguely able to pay attention to as Azriel brought his sword against me with ease - and a good deal of power.

I was either far more rusty than I had realized, or Azriel was exceptionally pissed off for how his morning had gone. Judging by the cold, hard look he’d given me after I’d found him in the living room and intruded on his conversation with Mor, I would have guessed it was the latter.

They’d been sitting so close, on a friendly, plush cushioned seat of a velvet fabric. Her hand rested gently on his knee. His eyes had flashed when he met my gaze, frustration returning to the surface behind whatever calm Mor had managed to lull him into. I could only imagine how much worse it would have been had she not been there.

The visit to the mortal realms must not have gone well, I’d taken it.

“They’ve got some sort of barrier around the palace,” Azriel had told me after I’d been invited to join them. Mor didn’t leave. “I expected some kind of protection around their general quarters, but not magic and not nearly to this extent.”

I nodded once as Azriel’s lips drew tight. Mor’s hand was still on his knee. “He’s going to take some time to consider the best way of handling those protections so as not to sound the alarm that we’re sniffing about.”

A delicate way of saying Azriel was pissed as hell he hadn’t been able to get in today. Not surprising, given his tendency towards efficiency and never failing - not ever. Azriel’s methods were brutal and unrelenting at best, and most especially where his own capabilities were concerned.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said. “I’m glad you spotted the wards first. That means the queens are far more clever than we had dared hope and that we have more to consider than originally planned. Especially if they’re already aware Hybern’s strategizing moves and plotting against it.” A small consolation for the day, but it signaled success to some degree.

Azriel finally looked up from where he’d been staring at the floor. “Like Feyre’s sisters gleaned.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded, his gaze hitting the carpet again. Mor looked at me and bit her lip. I shrugged and offered, “Cass is training Feyre on the roof. Want to have a go?” He knew I meant with me.

Mor fixed him with a soft, encouraging smile and Azriel sighed, a wisp of smoke flexing over his hands. “Let’s go.” The shadows might have spoken for him.

Not even two seconds inside the ring and that sword had flown out of its sheath at Azriel’s back. We peeled halfway out of our leathers not even ten minutes later when the sun had started to bake into our skin. And then it all came right back - anger and aggression pouring down on me like a violent rainstorm as we danced, softening into a more steady rhythm when those damned shadows curled up into Az’s ears and warned him of how much fatigue I was feeling. I only half wished they wouldn’t.

Today was a first day of sorts for Feyre and I both, it seemed. I briefly noticed her watching Az and I move as she sipped from a cup of water, and was near enough to hear Cassian explain the markings along our skin - over our arms, chests, and down a narrow column along our spines nestled between the roots of our wings.

“We get the tattoos when we’re initiated as Illyrian warriors,” Cassian said, “for luck and glory on the battlefield.” There was a prolonged silence interrupted only by the clashing of our swords before Cassian said with no attempt whatsoever to keep out of earshot, “Rhys is out of shape and won’t admit it.” A near snarl rose in my throat. “But Azriel is too polite to beat him into the dirt.”

_ Not when he’s doing such a damned good job of trying to kill me _ , I thought.

Az shot me an immodest grin and brought his sword down hard.

Cassian was right - on both accounts. I was out of shape and my pride dictated that I never confess it out loud. I held back a panting breath every time our blades met in the air and we stumbled back from one another.

Under the Mountain, I hadn’t trained. It wasn’t allowed and even if it had been or if I’d found a way around Amarantha’s rules, it was too brutal, too Illyrian, too  _ other _ for me to be seen with a sword in hand. My weapons had been sourced in other areas better suited to my mask of whore and politician.

But fuck if it hadn’t taken its toll on me.

I couldn’t bring myself to spar for weeks when I first came back. Azriel had offered, in his own understanding way, and Cassian knew straight away that I’d likely be off-kilter, but every time I thought about throwing a punch, knowing it would take me down hard and fast when it should have been uncomplicated, I died a little inside.

Mor was the one who took me out and made me practice after I’d ‘sulked’, as she had informed me, about it for too long. We went at it into the hours of the night until I was back on my feet enough to stand.

But my muscles had screamed at me the entire time. And my footwork was horribly sloppy. I barely felt like I remembered how to grip the hilt of a sword from how foreign fifty years without one had made it feel in my hands now stripped clean of all their callouses.

Just one more way Amarantha had violated me. Even a part of me that I had never shown her, she’d managed to find somehow.

Azriel caught the lapse in my attention and struck, nearly catching my arm if I hadn’t blocked at the last second. This time, he didn’t bother indulging me with a grin.

“So,” I heard Cassian say, right as I went on the offensive and struck at Az. “When are you going to talk about how you wrote a letter to Tamlin, telling him you’ve left for good?”

I took my eyes off Az and his sword, hunting for Feyre not far away, and missed landing the blow on him. But Azriel brought his sword around more slowly, driving it underneath me as I hurtled forward and catching my blade to stop me falling. The force of it as he pushed drove me back up.

“How about when you talk about how you tease and taunt Mor to hide whatever it is you feel for her?” Feyre’s voice was a venomous sting. And from what little shots of her I could catch, she looked as pissed as Azriel had been feeling all afternoon.

Azriel - whose sword slipped through the air. This time, I caught him. Neither of us looked anywhere but our blades - when I wasn’t watching Feyre, at least.

Cassian, bless the filthy prick, was laughing it off easily. “Old news,” he said. But he promptly fumbled with his own parry of words when Feyre shot back, “I have a feeling that’s what she probably says about you.” Cassian’s reply wasn’t the only thing with a little added heat to it as Azriel gained the upper hand on me for the umpteenth time.

It was a good thing Mor had stayed inside for this.

“Get back in the ring,” Cassian barked. “No core exercises. Just fists. You want to mouth off, then back it up.”

Azriel calmed down from his rage, sensing the turn the conversation was about to take, and held me on my toes just enough to keep me moving, but back enough that we could listen.

“Rhys told you?” Feyre asked.

“He informed Azriel, who is... monitoring things and needs to know. Az told me.”

Azriel, for his part, did not balk.

“I assume it was while you were out drinking and dancing.”

I looked with just enough time to see the frustration pulling on Feyre as she tried to side-step Cassian and was caught by his arm. “Hey,” he said, stripped of the rigid commander who had been instructing Feyre moments ago. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. Az only told me because I told him  _ I _ needed to know for my own forces; to know what to expect. None of us... we don’t think it’s a joke. What you did was a hard call. A really damn hard call. It was just my shitty way of trying to see if you needed to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

I saw him let go of Feyre’s arm, but only heard rather than saw Feyre say, “All right,” the heat and tension gone. My chest uncoiled with relief.

Thank the Mother above for the day she’d instructed the Cauldron to form Cassian and planted the wild idea into my head to go pull him from that flimsy makeshift tent in the camps.

“Thirty one-two punches,” he told her. He must have had pads up on his hands for her to hit. “Then forty; then fifty. You didn’t answer my question.”

Silence as Feyre positioned herself and made the first hit. “I’m fine.” The strikes formed a dull thudding sound.

“One.” Feyre struck again. “Two. And fine is good - fine is great.”

The same thing he’d told me. Had he not been working with Feyre, I would have bet my status as High Lord he’d be telling me to eat shit with those great big fists of his, the same way Azriel smiled at me every time someone said the word ‘fine’ out on that rooftop.

But Feyre was not fine - far from it. We had that lie in common.

I quickly lost count of her punches, the dull thuds increasing in pace. I think Cassian stopped counting too as her fists turned to smoke and ash and fire, burning through the pads as great, heaving sobs burst out of her.

The bond was closed. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but it was obvious without her having to say it. We all saw it written all over her face, as Azriel and I ceased sparring: grief. A grief so far-reaching and gut-wrenching it made it easy to understand why Feyre hadn’t found a moment in time to wish herself into non-existence, however much she hadn’t really wanted it.

I found myself walking toward her, leaving Azriel behind. The bond pulling me onward to go to my mate - to help her see the light she needed. But I was also just pleased that some of the emotion had finally broken free.

Freedom.

That was the other end of this if Feyre could say it out loud, could admit it to herself. It wouldn’t matter if we were there to bear witness to it or not, so long as she herself could say the words that would allow her to start really healing.

She gave Cassian one final punch, realizing she’d burned the pads on his hands to dust. Her face was so red, her many freckles seemed to vanish. “I’m all right,” Cassian told her, his hands giving a short gesture upwards to encourage her should she need to go again. My brother would have let her knock the world out of him if he thought it was what she needed to break free from her prison.

I took a steadying breath.

_ Cassian. _

My brother. In truth, the heart of this court and all it stood for.

Through the many tears now flowing freely down Feyre’s heartbreaking face, she choked out, “I killed them,” barely even forming the words before the sobs shuddered over her body anew.

I remembered what she’d told the Bone Carver. How those deaths had haunted her. How she’d wanted to end herself afterwards. I hated that. Hated that Amarantha had wrecked her so thoroughly.

“I know,” Cassian said, lowering his hands to give her space.

“It should have been me,” Feyre cried.

My powers flew out of me without command. I think... I think the mate bond felt the struggle and reacted on instinct just then. Because looking at Feyre and feeling that immeasurable grief she experienced wash over me in waves, it was all I could do to find a way to soothe the act and let her know she wasn’t alone.

Cassian didn’t even look at me as he passed. He simply went straight to Azriel and began trading blows while I looked into Feyre’s tear-stained face, her eyes red and burning. Calm, reassuring darkness flooded between us, both real and imagined. Gently, I cupped her face and brought it up to read mine, my wings wrapping out around us, again without any instruction to do so. Everything at this point was just pure instinct showing me the way to Feyre - to keeping my mate from going it alone.

That had been her one wish in death: to never feel alone. I’d felt it, right before her neck had snapped.

“You will feel that way every day for the rest of your life,” I told her. Feyre’s eyes were blue - so, so blue as she watched me, and tried to push herself out of my hold so she could run, but I held her firm. “And I know this because I have felt that way every day since my mother and sister were slaughtered and I had to bury them myself, and even retribution didn’t fix it. You can either let it wreck you, let it get you killed like it nearly did with the Weaver, or you can learn to live with it.”

I wiped the tears away gently with each word, my thumbs pausing here and there to pay homage to her skin and the quiet pains that hid behind it. The last time I’d cleaned her face of tears, it had been with cruel, taunting licks meant to distract her from Amarantha’s torture. Too similar to the exchange we shared now even if the manner about it was entirely opposing.

Feyre stared at me for a long time searching my face and finding whatever truths she saw there and needed to keep her going. The tears finally slowed to a stop. “I’m sorry - about your family.” Her throat was raw. That hadn’t quite been the answer I’d expected. It sort of... broke my heart anew.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find a way to spare you from what happened Under the Mountain,” I countered, “From dying. From  _ wanting _ to die.” I found myself still stroking her cheek as I held this most precious treasure the Cauldron had ever seen fit to merge with my life. Feyre shook her head, about to protest, but she no longer tried to pull away. “I have two kinds of nightmares,” I said, and she stopped moving. “The ones where I’m again Amarantha’s whore or my friends are... And the ones where I hear your neck snap and see the light leave your eyes.”

Silence. But her body relaxed as I continued to hold on to her, savoring the calm that slowly ached into her skin beneath that touch, and unwittingly across the bond tying us to one another.

My mate.

My resilient, wonderful mate.

Who was now looking me over as though inspecting me for faults and cracks of my own before finding her hands, wrapped in pitiful scraps of charred fabric, all that was left of her handiwork with Cassian. “Ah,” I said, taking her hand and feeling my wings release smoothly behind me. “That.”

Cassian and Azriel were having a true fight beside us, one I still couldn’t match even if I’d given it my all on a good day.

Feyre looked up, her face squinting as the piercing light of the sun resumed its place between us. The coloring on her face was not quite so crimson anymore. “Autumn Court, right?”

“Right.” I ran my hand over her palm, her fingers. Her skin was perfectly in tact, unharmed from whatever fires she’d sent forth.

Interesting.

“A gift from its High Lord, Beron.”

Though he’d certainly never see it that way. Feyre took a deep breath. “I’m not well versed in the complexities of the other High Lords’ elemental gifts, but we can figure it out - day by day, if need be.”

“If you’re the most powerful High Lord in history...” Feyre mused, “does that mean the drop I got from you holds more sway over the others?”

Some deep feral instinct, rooted within the male that the mate bond held prisoner, purred that I damn well hoped my drop held more sway.

“Give it a try,” I suggested. “See if you can summon darkness. I won’t ask you to try to winnow.” I grinned, and Feyre’s face tugged as though trying to remember what this play between us was like after the episode we were coming out of.

“I don’t know how I did it to begin with.”

“Will it into being.” Her face fell, exasperated. So I gave her a hint of how to come back to me - to us and what we were. “Try thinking of me - how good-looking I am. How talented-”

“How arrogant.”

“That, too,” I admitted, just pleased she’d bitten at all. I crossed my arms and waited, Feyre’s gaze falling down. And further down, down... over my arms and, and - she was looking, I realized.

“Put a shirt on while you’re at it,” she said, far too quickly.

Ooh, she was definitely looking. The feral beast inside me purred again, yanking on his leash. “Does it make you uncomfortable?” I asked, leaning forward with a smile to match the wicked beast pounding away at my chest. I liked my mate watching me.

I liked it  _ very much _ .

“I’m surprised there aren’t more mirrors in this house,” Feyre said, quickly recovering, “since you seem to love looking at yourself so much.”

She stood back and leveled her own feral gaze at me - one of attack and daring while Azriel and Cassian tried not to be too loud with their sudden fit of coughing that had apparently interrupted their sword play... pricks.

“There’s the Feyre I adore,” I said, almost smiling. And though Feyre scowled as she closed her eyes to look for my Night, the gentle peace had resumed its rightful place between us once more.

Her face strained, her body reaching for something it alone could not find. I stepped closer once more and sang her the story that might lead her nearer to it. “There are different kinds of darkness,” I murmured, fashioning each one at my fingertips. “There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful. There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.”

With each new form, darkness welled out of me looking for Feyre, filling the rooftop with infinite black and adding unique layers. Some were filled with starlight. Others with dust and shadow. Some still with pain. But all of them powerful and connected in never ending Night.

“Open your eyes,” I whispered and enjoy the glow in Feyre’s gaze as she took in the darkness shrouding us like a veil to plummet into deepest sleep with.

It wrapped us up thickly, enjoying the way Feyre felt against it. There was darkness inside her somewhere - and not the kind that ate away at her soul and forced her worst memories retching out of her throat night after night. It was a part of her and she of it. One day, I hoped, we’d find it together.

Feyre played with a piece of starlight that bloomed iridescent on the inky black waves caressing her skin and hair. And then, in a quiet wink, it was all gone. Feyre looked at me with something like awe left behind in her expression.

“We can work on it later,” I said. “For now,” and I sniffed the air with exaggerated disgust, “go take a bath.”

Feyre didn’t look back as she flipped me off, strode right in the middle of my brother’s match play, now free and wild once more without the darkness, and informed my general that he was flying her home.

“She’ll be fine,” Az said, clapping me once on the back as we watched them fly off.

And for once, I knew she would be.


	4. Chapters 31-32: It's A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys receives a formal invitation to visit Tarquin in the Summer Court. Along with Feyre and Amren, the three visit and Rhys is instantly hit with a mix of emotions he isn't sure he can handle while gone.

The letter appeared some four days later addressed in scrolling script that had a bit of a flourish to it:  _ To the High Lord of the Night Court _ .

I read the letter straight away. Tarquin kept his correspondence brief and to the point, but it was friendly. Welcoming.

Tarquin.

Winnowing, I found Amren in her study bent over some papers. I tossed Tarquin’s letter on top of the stack, disturbing her work. She tensed, and then spotted the signature. “We leave tomorrow.” She arched a brow at me. “Yes, we. I need you to come to Adriata with Feyre and I.”

Amren leaned back in her chair, not bothering with the letter. The Summer Court wasn’t really her aesthetic, but Amren scared the shit out of everyone in that court several times over and her powers would be invaluable keeping Feyre and I safe while we stayed.

Not to mention what getting the book into Amren’s hands would mean if the rumors I’d heard circulating were true.

But that part could wait until we had the book and could know for certain.

“And I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter, Rhysand?” She studied me carefully. I must have sounded more hard set than I felt. I nodded. “Very well. I will go with you to visit Tarquin - on one request.”

“Name it.”

She fingered the thin metal chain dangling around her neck. “I want a ruby before we leave. A large fat one.” The chain curled around her pinkie finger and could have broken for how it twisted when she curled that small digit inward. Only Amren could make delicate jewelry look like a weapon.

I snickered. “Whatever you want, Amren.” Her eyes glowed with a not so subtle greed right before I left.

* * *

I sent Amren ahead of me to round up the rest of the inner circle so I could fill them in on the plans for our time in Adriata. In the meantime, I wrote Tarquin a swift reply informing him our party would arrive the following afternoon. And then I sat in my own study and tried not to brood too long over the last time I’d seen Tarquin Under the Mountain, when I’d held his blood’s heart in my hands and crushed the life force from it to keep his secrets from an evil queen’s hands.

His mind had been scared. I’d had to calm and distract it like I had Claire, and coordinate the words and shudders coming from his body - a puppet on the strings. All so Amarantha wouldn’t suspect the truth. Killing him had been a mercy. Tarquin knew it and undoubtedly remembered, but...

It had still taken a good long while for his invitation to arrive.

Whatever Tarquin sought to get out of our meeting, there was still a good degree of distrust to be handled.

Smart High Lord.

Despite his youth, Tarquin’s mind was sharp, even with the million different hands Azriel informed me that were seeking to mold it to their will each day. Tarquin wanted to free lesser faeries, make them equals with the rest of us. The Illyrian in me heard and responded to that call. I’d fought for that change my entire life to little success because of the mask I had to wear to keep my court safe.

But Tarquin was making it work. Somehow. I sincerely hoped Feyre got that half of the Book without fuss. Tarquin was maybe one of the few allies I actually stood a chance of making in this damned world, and I... did not want to lose that chance with him.

I ran a hand through my hair and tore myself out of my study.

No matter what, my court came first, and I had to remain vigilent.

Walking out into the sunlight above the House, everyone but Azriel was present. Feyre had a pair of fighting knives dropped at her feet where she stood in front of Cassian, Mor chiding from the sidelines. Amren looked ready to doze off in her chair and I wondered if she’d told them anything at all.

“Sorry to interrupt while things were getting interesting,” I said by way of greeting.

“Fortunately for Cassian’s balls, you arrived at the right time.” Amren resettled herself in her seat. Cassian gave a vague snarl that had me chuckling and no one else.

I was curious what they’d been chatting about before I’d arrived - or quarreling over.

“Ready to go on a summer holiday?” I asked. Mor’s head perked up.

“The Summer Court invited you?”

“Of course they did. Feyre, Amren, and I are going tomorrow.” Now it was Feyre’s turn to look at me. But it was Cassian who loomed forward waiting for me to amend my statement.

“The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks,” he told me pointedly, a general on duty. “I should join you.”

“You’d fit right in,” Amren said with far too much delight. Picking Cassian apart was her favorite pastime. “Too bad you still aren’t going.”

“Watch it, Amren,” Cassian said and there was a strange fire in his eyes, a fire to attack and defend, that wasn’t usually there among just us. Only the smile on Amren’s face that remained no more than a taunt kept me from wondering just what sort of conversation I’d interrupted.

“Believe me,” my Second said, “I’d prefer not to go either.”

“Cassian,” I said, increasingly frustrated with whatever bizarre tension was floating around, “considering the fact that the last time you visited, it didn’t end well-”

“I wrecked  _ one _ building-”

“ _ And _ , considering the fact that they are utterly terrified of sweet Amren,  _ she _ is the wiser choice.”

Cassian took another step forward against me. I half expected him to invite me to spar for a place in our party. “It could easily be a trap. Who’s to say the delay in replying wasn’t because they’re contacting our enemies to ambush you?”

“That is  _ also _ why Amren is coming.” I shifted away from Cassian, annoyed with the aggression in his tone. I would undoubtedly hear about it later. “There is also a great deal of treasure to be found in the Summer Court. If the Book is hidden, Amren, you might find other objects to your liking.”

Amren looked up at me in surprise. I shrugged _ : You said you wanted a ruby. _

“Shit,” Cassian cursed. “Really, Rhys?” Yes, I was definitely going to hear about this later. “It’s bad enough we’re stealing from them, but robbing them blind-”

“Rhysand  _ does _ have a point,” Amren said wickedly. “Their High Lord is young and untested. I doubt he’s had much time to catalog his inherited hoard since he was appointed Under the Mountain. I doubt he’ll know anything is missing. Very well, Rhysand - I’m in.”

Cassian took another step forward, his mouth opening. I gave him a sharp look, fed up with whatever this bullshit tension he was coming off was. I was already in a piss-poor mood contemplating how I was going to blindside Tarquin and stay in his good graces without him adding his personal grievances to the pile. “I will need you - not Amren - in the human realm. The Summer Court has banned you for eternity, and though your presence would be a good distraction while Feyre does what she has to, it could lead to more trouble than its worth.”

“Just cool your heels, Cassian,” Amren said when Cassian didn’t pull back. “We’ll be fine without your swaggering and growling at everyone. Their High Lord owes Rhys a favor for saving his life Under the Mountain - and keeping his secrets.”

“And the High Lord also probably wants to figure out where we stand in regard to any upcoming conflict,” Mor added. Feyre was watching the back and forth with deep seated interest.

Seeming to realize he wasn’t going to get anywhere with all of us, Cassian lowered his wings and evened out his voice, though there was still a good degree of bite beneath it. I scanned the group and realized Azriel wasn’t here, but Amren  _ and _ Mor were.

That explained enough for me to imagine... certain dynamics muddling about the air.

“Feyre, though,” Cassian said, staring daggers at me. “It’s one thing to have her here - even when everyone knows it. It’s another to bring her to a different court, and introduce her as a member of our own.”

Yet another little problem I’d be discussing with Azriel later and further reasoning for Cassian to stay behind in Velaris. Cassian’s eyes were fire. One more word against him and he’d launch himself at me, ready to go to blows. It wouldn’t even have been personal. Whatever was brewing in his bones, it was something wholly unrelated to the direct conversation making him itch to get away for a week.

So I dropped it. Nodded at Amren, and made for the door, and heard Mor tell Cass to just back off and leave it. If my suspicions were correct, that reproach coming from her probably didn’t help much. I half expected him to push past her and follow me.

It was Feyre’s voice, however, that eventually caught up to me. She was hounded in dirt and sweat from training. For the past four days straight, she’d spent her mornings with Cassian - and Azriel when he was free to join - and her afternoons with me. Her fire magic was yielding more and more each day.

“Any more traps I should know about before we go tomorrow?” she asked. There was a taunt hidden somewhere in that remark.

I looked over my shoulder, barely hiding my smirk. “Here I was, thinking your notes the other night indicated you’d forgiven me.”

She stopped walking rather abruptly. “One would think a High Lord would have more important things to do than pass notes back and forth at night.”

More important things,  _ indeed _ .

My mind had rather run away that night, if I were honest. Probably not the best idea before taking Feyre out where she’d be throwing herself in the paths of friends and enemies alike.

“I do have more important things to do,” I said, gentle as the night. “But I find myself unable to resist the temptation. The same way you can’t resist watching me whenever we’re out. So territorial.” I waited for her to throw the words back at me, to scoff and call me a prick. But it never came.

Instead, Feyre breezed right up to me with all of my own usual grace and nonchalance, nearly brushing me as she went. A chill ran down my spine. “ _ You _ haven’t been able to keep away from me since Calanmai, it seems.”

Oh, she was a gem, Feyre. And not only was she sharp as diamonds, she was more right than she knew. I flicked her nose playfully, wishing the gesture could be more than it was as my eyes drew downward and fell on the smooth skin of her lips, still flushed a faint pink from training.

“I can’t wait to see what that sharp tongue of yours can do at the Summer Court,” I said, and enjoyed how her grey eyes flashed before I winnowed into the mist.

* * *

Cassian, as I should have seen coming, ambushed me and held me up all night. And this time, he brought proper reinforcements. Azriel was naturally on Cass’ side about the entire affair, and for once, pushed just as hard on me to relent. Without Amren there to poke and prod, and with Mor gone... I wondered what itch exactly had come across my brother’s skin.

In the morning, I felt like we’d been out drinking all night even though I hadn’t touched a single drop. Slipping into some of my finest black clothing befitting of the cruel High Lord from Under the Mountain, I was already stewing and not pleased about it. Going into Adriata with a temper wasn’t what I wanted, even if it would support my proclivity for dramatics.

Feyre came down the stairs as Amren and I waited for her in the townhouse. Her hair was done up in soft curls and she wore a pastel purple dress that moved and flowed as she walked. Flowers from my court were pressed carefully into her hair.

When she landed on the bottom step, she seemed almost... normal. Almost herself again. There was color in her face and she was - she was beautiful. I half expected her to smile softly at me, but it never came.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. Throwing her into real work with such high stakes warred against the idea of soon having to share her with another High Lord.

Either way, I felt tension slicing through me.

“Good,” I said in Feyre’s direction. “Let’s go.”

“He’s pissy this morning,” Amren said as thought I were not present when Feyre eyed me curiously.

Something told me Amren could feel my gut rolling about in anticipation.

“Why?” Feyre asked carefully. I grabbed Amren’s hand and extended my free one to Feyre who didn’t take it right away. Shit, I was already so on edge. This wasn’t how I wanted this to start.

“Because I stayed out late with Cassian and Azriel,” I said, “and they took me for all I was worth in cards.”

The cards had lasted only a half hour in reality. But the discussion that broke off our revelry and kept us up late into the night over plans for the oncoming trip had been the real debate. Cassian had hounded me about taking him with us to Adriata. When Azriel wasn’t busy supporting our brother against me, I’d informed him to give it two days to see if Tamlin moved before going back to the mortal lands to spy on the queens.

Then I’d left them be for the evening.

Two days was ample time for Tamlin to figure out Feyre was gone and do something about it if he pleased.

I was betting on Tamlin’s preference toward inaction to keep him from doing anything.

Feyre eyed me squarely, half amusement, half curiosity. “Sore loser?” she asked, finally taking my hand. I felt better just holding on to her.

“I am when my brothers tag-team me.”

The wind swept us away, drowning out whatever reply or retort Amren and Feyre might have made. And we landed on smooth, polished stone set out over the bustling, glistening sea of the Summer Court’s most luminous city.

Adriata.

The sea was the city itself the way the Sidra was Velaris. It was unnerving in the way that only a High Lord could ever feel in another court. Tarquin was simply everywhere, his power thrumming about in currents of the sea that thrashed in and out along the shore, and in the bright sun shining brilliantly overhead. Even the loud turquoises of several hundred different shades seem to ring with the power of the man standing before us and his small party out to greet their guests. A stone castle sat imperiously behind the Lord of Summer, made of sand and sun and light.

Amren looked at the scene rather dully, as though she’d seen better. And even though Feyre kept her face perfectly plain, her eyes wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop roaming over the new landscape.

“Welcome to Adriata,” Tarquin said, eyeing me keenly. He was not unwelcome in his greeting, which was more than I could say for the crowd behind him. Cresseida hadn’t taken her eyes off me once yet in the several seconds since we’d appeared.

I slid one hand into my pocket, keeping the other free to gesture idly about - the bored High Lord looking for an activity worthy of distracting him. “Good to see you again, Tarquin,” I said.

He nodded. And it struck me how refreshed he looked. Something that mirrored a piece of my own recovery. His eyes were bright with many shades of blue. His dark brown skin had evened out in complexion, and his hair, while still short, had grown back in fuller and well cut.

Yes, Tarquin looked well.

At least one of us was here to have a good day.

“Amren, I think you know,” I said gesturing to my Second and enjoying the reprieve Cresseida’s gaze offered me finally as she took in my Second with clear disapproval. “Though you haven’t met her since your... promotion.” Cresseida’s glare returned to me in full force.

I bit back a taunting smirk. She’d be the one to play with while Feyre was distracting Tarquin.

My stomach cursed the reminder, a shot of adrenaline rolling through me as I considered the lengths to which Amren and I were handing Feyre over to Tarquin to play. My skin started to crawl - to itch.

Tarquin didn’t notice as he eyed Amren thoughtfully. “Welcome back to the city, lady,” he offered. Amren looked him over, her eyes the only piece of her  _ bothering _ with him.

“At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore,” she said. Tarquin, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Condolences, of course.”

Cruel. Such a cruel, cruel game we were setting ourselves about.

I stifled a sigh as I turned to Feyre and set my mask firmly in place. “I don’t believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin.”

Tarquin seemed momentarily speechless. He stared transfixed at Feyre, his gaze sliding down from her face to her chest. I leashed a growl that had loosened in my chest.

I didn’t like that look. Didn’t like him looking at her - like  _ that _ . It was too close. This close to Feyre, I could smell her. Her face was a mask of stone, but her scent was near enough to call my blood to it. Not Tarquin’s. He probably didn’t even care one way or the other, was likely thinking some other thought I couldn’t have guessed, maybe even wondering if it was his powers he was picking up on that drew him straight to her, but all the same... I hadn’t seen another male look at Feyre like that since Tamlin.

“Her breasts  _ are _ rather spectacular, aren’t they? Delicious as ripe apples.” I stood perfectly still, the picture of poise, but there was enough implied in the words that Tarquin could understand:  _ You aren’t the only one to look at her _ .

I felt Feyre’s head turn to me and readied myself for a  _ prick _ or a  _ go to hell  _ commentary, but instead, a feline expression curled quietly onto her face. “Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth,” she said, leaving her lips slightly parted.

Oh, she could play. And play  _ well _ .

“You have a tale to tell, it seems,” Tarquin said, pulling our attention back to him.

“We have many tales to tell,” I said. “So why not get comfortable?”

Beneath Cresseida’s dark skin, the faintest red flush was discernible. Interesting. She stepped up to meet Tarquin and only just stopped short of getting on equal footing of him. “We have refreshments prepared,” she said.

Tarquin’s eyes briefly flashed as he turned to his cousin and glossed right over his misstep. “Cresseida - Princess of Adriata.”

I could have snorted when Cresseida blew me off and took to Feyre first. Azriel was right - she’d be the one to watch out for. “A pleasure,” she told Feyre, neither friend nor foe. “And an honor.”

Feyre shrugged, keeping it casual and decidedly off-hand like we’d discussed. “The honor’s mine, princess.”

Another well played move as Cresseida held her tongue. Tarquin rushed through the final acquaintances, which included Varian, the other royal of Adriata high up on Azriel’s priority list to keep watch for, and then Tarquin motioned for us to follow him inside.

The palace really was crafted from the sand and sea. Shells flecked the walls and floors in beautiful arrangements that created nautical designs repeating across the tiles and stone. And the passageways were open and airy. The construction of the palace was similar enough to my residence in the Night Court that the open breezes and sun felt familiar. But the colors, the textures... they were all wrong. And with Tarquin standing so near, my own powers dim to make him feel less wary, it was like a sickness that comes with the changing of the seasons.

And he kept looking back to Feyre as we walked. Every few steps, his head would glance over his shoulder and fixate on her for a few seconds before turning back. The hand in my pocket kept a tight fist, my lone release of tension.

“You’ve yet to decorate for Nynsar,” I said, noting the lack of ornamentation about the palace.

“No,” Tarquin said. He sounded rather glum about it for a High Lord giving back a fae holiday to its people. “Flowers and frivolity have held little consequence for me in light of more serious projects going on.”

I gave no indication if I agreed or not. “You have a good deal of work to be done without one night interrupting you.” His head drifted away, glancing back over his shoulder again. My fist began to ache at my side.

Cauldron, how was I going to get through a week or more of them spending time together? And why did I even care this much? The agitation was strong enough that when Tarquin looked back to Feyre  _ yet again _ , I wondered how my own father had felt when he’d seen my mother in the camps kicking and thrashing about, and cursed the Mother silently that I’d never get to ask him.

“We have four main cities in my territory,” Tarquin explained, his body half turning to face Feyre as we walked. “We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata - it’s finest at this time of year.”

There was a brief pause before Feyre replied. “It’s very beautiful.”

Tarquin looked delighted, though he was smart enough not to give too much away. But he kept staring at her. And staring some more. I reminded myself it could likely just be his power thrumming in Feyre’s blood that called out to him and bid his head turn round to inspect, but...  he looked at her the way he’d stared at her chest on the reception platform, with a trace of desire.

_ Mine _ .

A vicious word. A filthy word. A word that made me want to peel myself out of my skin and hide if I wasn’t going to indulge my primal instincts to grab Feyre and prove just how much she  _ was _ mine. Though she wasn’t mine at all, really. And I had no right until she said otherwise.

That didn’t stop the voice from appearing all the same, though.

“The repairs have been going well, I take it.” Tarquin looked at me as though I’d plucked him from a daydream. And for once, acting mildly irritated and bored with him felt natural.

“Mostly,” he said, turning back around properly. My chest eased with the movement -  _ slightly _ . “There remains much to be done. The back half of the castle is a wreck. But, as you can see, we’ve finished most of the inside. We focused on the city first - and those repairs are ongoing.” An admirable decision, and the right one.

“I hope no valuables were lost during its occupation.”

It wasn’t a question, but Tarquin answered it for me anyway. “Not the most important things, thank the Mother.”

Interesting.

White oak columns surrounded by a collage of stained glass ushered us into a magnificent dining area. I felt as though a thread was carefully unraveling, traveling farther and farther out to be lost at sea as I took my seat at the table and watched Feyre drift almost unconsciously to the huge, clear glass window. The bay, teaming with life and purpose, no doubt bustling below it.

I took a deep breathe, and savored the notes of sea and salt billowing in the air from that ocean outside. Maybe I was not to be totally out of my element here.

Varian and Cresseida accompanied me while keeping careful watch over Amren as we all took our seats. Tarquin, however, went to Feyre and explained his fixation with the view. I was pleased to note others at the table who seemed uncomfortable with where their High Lord had wandered off to.

“My cousin puts it modestly,” Cresseida said beside me. I removed my eyes, but not my mind from Feyre as she complimented Tarquin’s court. “Reconstruction is moving forward splendidly.”

“Oh?” I drawled, making it plain I cared little one way or the other. Her face tightened.

“Yes,” she said, a bit of heat flaring behind the lone word. “Nearly all the debris has been cleared of the city center and every single business has re-opened its doors even if only with limited hours. Our fish markets-”

“Are thriving as ever,” Varian said cooly. Cresseida cut him a glare I was glad not to be on the receiving end of. “And how fare your own markets, High Lord? What damage did  _ they _ see during your recent imprisonment.”

I didn’t honor him with so much as a stare. Given the choice, I’d have taken Cresseida. Amren could have this one.

Amren made a rather sharp note that the Night Court wasn’t one for  _ fish _ markets, but that she could tell Varian about all variety of trade and purchase if he believed himself capable of handling it. She swirled her glass of wine viciously.

A mention of Amarantha caught my ear as Tarquin looked at Feyre with a smile in his turquoise eyes. “You are a pearl,” he told her. “Though I knew that the day you threw that bone at Amarantha and splattered mud on her favorite dress.”

If I’d hoped Feyre would stand back, I was horribly disappointed to see her step closer to the High Lord of Summer, looking him over. It was precisely the right move, but I hated it.

Hated it, hated it, hated it.

Hated it even more when she looked up into those inviting eyes and purred, “I do not remember you being quite so handsome Under the Mountain. The sunlight and sea suit you.”

My blood boiled. She’d  _ never _ looked at me like that and meant it. Not once. And her voice - it was like liquid silk. The voice she’d use when the flirtation was real for her.

“How exactly do you fit within Rhysand’s court?” he asked, no discernible reaction.

“Feyre is a member of my Inner Circle,” I said, unable to stand it any longer that they weren’t at our table, even if I hid the frustration behind the mask and dull conversation about  _ fish _ . “And is my Emissary to the Mortal Lands.”

Feyre sat down in front of me eyeing me carefully. “Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?” Cresseida asked coyly. Tarquin sat regarding his cousin, but his attention was still very much concerned with Feyre - and now myself.

Good.

I picked up my wine glass and swished the liquid about, prolonging the silence before I answered. The last time I’d drank wine in a foreign court without taking the necessary precautions, my powers had drained and I’d wound up under a rock for fifty years. Tarquin didn’t appreciate the motion, but looked as though he too might sniff his own glass.

“I prefer to be prepared for every potential situation,” I said, still refraining from a single sip. I could feel hot irritation rolling off of Cresseida next to me and wanted to chuckle darkly at her. At least  _ someone _ was going to be fun here. “And, given that Hybern seems set on making themselves a nuisance, striking up a conversation with the humans might be in our best interest.”

Varian leaned forward. Now we were getting somewhere. “So it’s been confirmed, then? Hybern is readying for war.”

My fingers curled on the stem of the wine glass. I knew it would taste magnificent, the ocean striped of salt and brine and left to only pure, undiluted air flirting about the fruity undertones. But otherwise, the scent was empty. Finally, I deigned a sip.

“They’re done readying. War is imminent.”

“Yes, you mentioned that in your letter,” Tarquin said. I’d been rather blunt with him in that regard, which made his delayed reply all the more infuriating - Cresseida be damned. “And you know that against Hybern, we will fight. We lost enough good people Under the Mountain. I have no interest in being slaves again.” In that, we were of one mind. I was halfway to another sip when he added, “But if you are here to ask me to fight in another war, Rhysand-”

My teeth grounded together on the way he said my full name so sharply. “That is not a possibility,” I said, no room for argument, “and had not even entered my mind.”

Carefully, I kept my eyes trained from Feyre. But Cresseida gave it away anyway. “High Lords have gone to war for less, you know. Doing it over such an  _ unusual _ female would be nothing unexpected.”

Unusual - a compliment and a marking, as if Feyre were Other or unwelcome. Oh yes, Cresseida was going to be  _ very _ fun to crack. She at least had the spice Tarquin lacked as High Lord. And the way her cousin seemed to brush her off so easily, well - I’d know where to hit. And feel guilty for doing so after.

All eyes somehow turned to Feyre, giving me free reign to watch Cresseida and gage her reaction as Feyre leaned forward and uttered, without missing a beat, “Try not to look too excited, princess. The High Lord of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court.” Cresseida leaned forward herself, her tongue leaping from her lips with a trap at every syllable.

This was almost better than Cassian and Nesta, Mother above.

“And are you in contact with Tamlin, then?”

Again, Feyre didn’t balk. My mate was her own weapon, free to blow holes and sink ships wherever she pleased. “There are things that are public knowledge, and things that are not. My relationship with him is well known. Its current standing, however, is none of your concern. Or anyone else’s. But I do know Tamlin, and I know that there will be no internal war between courts - at least not over me, or  _ my _ decisions.”

A little thrill went through me then, even as Cresseida prepared another barbed insult to throw at Feyre. Finally -  _ this _ felt familiar. This felt almost... normal, in a sick and twisted kind of way. I’d played these games all my life and had perfected my match play for the past fifty years.

Cassian and Nesta were all heat and emotion flooding between them. Instinct. But this was sword play - one move countered carefully by another. A game I had mastered, and Feyre too, now, it seemed.

How  _ good _ it felt. Like a welcome home.

To a home I had sorely missed.

“What a relief, then,” Cresseida said. The crab on her plate cracked like a broken bone beneath her touch, the snaps sounding in time with her words. She drank greedily from her glass and I could sense both Tarquin and Varian tensing, and yet neither of them bothered to cut Cresseida off as they waited for her to finish her sip. “To know we are not harboring a stolen bride - and that we need not bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep.”

Amren was as angry as I should have, perhaps, felt. But the lady of Adriata was nothing compared to Amarantha. I found myself truly disinterested in her idle threat.

Let Tamlin come. He would not like what he would find waiting for him, a greeting far unfriendlier than the one Tarquin had bestowed upon me thus far.

Feyre seemed to agree. “I left of my own free will,” she said. “And no one is my master.”

“Think that all you want, lady,” the title sounding dismissive, “but the law is the law. You are - were his bride. Swearing fealty to another High Lord does not change that.” A half truth. Feyre had sworn no such fealty - nor would I ever ask her to - and we’d done everything ‘by the book’ as Mor had said. She was free, tradition and laws be damned. At this point, Cresseida was just playing with what she thought was food. “So it is a very good thing that he respects your decisions. Otherwise, all it would take would be one letter from him to Tarquin, requesting your return, and we would have to obey. Or risk war ourselves.”

Part of me hoped Cresseida was there the day we did meet Tamlin again, for almost inevitably we would, and I would relish the look on her face when Feyre shredded him to pieces - claws or no.

“You are always a joy, Cresseida,” I said blandly, eyeing my wine.

“Careful, High Lord.” Varian’s voice, so rare and collected, bid me look up. “My sister speaks the truth.” Cresseida sat tall and proud in the wake of her brother’s defense.

But it was Tarquin, her High Lord, who drowned her out. Both of them.

“Rhysand is our guest - his courtiers are our guests. And we will treat them as such. We will treat them, Cresseida, as we treat people who saved our necks when all it would have taken was one word from them for us to be very, very dead.” He turned back to me - and Feyre. I remained carefully unfeeling, but inside, his words rang a truth that captured me.

This was the High Lord who saw the broken and insisted on justice. The High Lord of Summer who saw more in the lesser. He didn’t need centuries of experience to earn my respect for that. He was already more than ahead on that count.

It would be a miserable dishonor to betray him, I realized - any of my personal sentiments over Feyre aside.

“We have more to discuss later, you and I,” he said directly to me. And the way he spoke - so sincerely and regally - for a moment, none other was present save two recovering High Lords trying to save their kingdoms the best way they knew how. Perhaps the only ones in all of Prythian. “Tonight, I’m throwing a party for you all on my pleasure barge in the bay. After that, you’re free to roam in this city wherever you wish. You will forgive its princess if she is protective of her people. Rebuilding these months has been long and hard. We do not wish to do it again any time soon.”

And what was interesting was the hurt that flashed in Cresseida’s eyes as her cousin spoke. Not from the losses her court had suffered, but the dismissal of her own opinion and authority sentenced by her cousin.

Such a different dynamic between them when sat next to myself and my own cousin - Mor, who I might bicker and battle with behind closed doors, but never would I dismiss so clearly in front of another court. Cresseida, for all her strengths and powers that filled in Tarquin’s gaps, was still a princess in this land.

At home, Morrigan was a Queen.

I simmered into my wine glass. I knew exactly how I’d get under Cresseida’s skin tonight. She would be angry afterward, and I didn’t like it one bit. But... so be it.

I felt suddenly less poorly about the idea when Tarquin offered a personal coo to Feyre. “Cresseida made many sacrifices on behalf of her people,” he said, and Cresseida might as well have not even been at the table. “Do not take her caution personally.”

No - it was as though  _ I _ may as well have been absent from the table.

“We all made sacrifices,” I said, letting a little bit of the sting pierce through. She was not his mate to defend. She was -

_ Mine _ .

“And you now sit at this table with your family because of the ones Feyre made. So you will forgive  _ me _ , Tarquin, if I tell your princess that if she sends word to Tamlin, or if any of your people try to bring her to him, their lives will be forfeit.”

Tarquin himself must have cut the air from the room. But the ocean was still distinguishable - salt and sea and citrus, second nature to me. I felt the starlight flicker through my eyes as the Lord of Summer leveled a stare containing the heat of the sun at the Lord of Night.

“Do not threaten me in my own home, Rhysand,” Tarquin said. “My gratitude goes only so far.”

_ Good _ , I thought.  _ You can play games too _ .

“It’s not a threat,” I said, enjoying Cresseida’s  _ near _ jump when the crab claws on my plate cracked seemingly of their own will, my hands no where near the plate. “It’s a promise.”

As though he needed some kind of permission not to fight, Tarquin turned to Feyre after we held each other’s gaze for only so long. Feyre caught my eye, and whether she did it intentionally or not, I felt the bond dance between us.

“No wonder immortality never gets dull,” Feyre said.

Our game. We were playing this game together, my mate and I.

And she was  _ magnificent _ at it.


	5. Chapters 33-34: To the Stars Who Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys's jealousy over seeing Feyre with Tarquin gets the better of him. After a night of flirting with Cresseida for information and being ignored by Feyre at breakfast, Rhys finds himself breaking down some of the emotional barriers in Feyre's room.

I went to Feyre’s room looking for a friend, someone to talk to.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself as I opened the door to the sunlit room that interconnected with mine. Bright seafoam green dripped from the walls and ceiling, a soft compliment to the dress Feyre had chosen for the day.

She looked up at me from the dresser she was about to go through or maybe just had. I shut the door in a bit of a frenzy. “The problem, I’ve realized, will be that I like Tarquin,” I said. “I even like Cresseida. Varian, I could live without,” he wasn’t nearly as lively as sister and she wasn’t nearly as clever as him, “but I bet a few weeks with Cassian and Azriel, and he’d be thick as thieves with them and I’d have to learn to like him. Or he’d be wrapped around Amren’s finger, and I’d have to leave him alone entirely or risk her wrath.”

I felt like I’d been talking way too quickly. I hadn’t bothered with my room while I gave Feyre time to sort herself out in hers. Pacing had been all I could abate myself with after Tarquin had seen himself off to prepare for this evening on his barge. I’d wanted to rip my shirt in two as if I could shed the very skin beneath it.

Tarquin was decent. He was kind. And he was just. Lunch had shown me that enough. He was a good High Lord, who cared about his people. And Cassian was right - we risked a lot against him coming here.

“And?” Feyre said, leaning against the dresser. Her expression was bland - too much like the mask she’d had at lunch. The one she’d been so generous with where Tarquin was concerned.

“And,” I said, looking for my friend in that pretty freckled face, “I want you to find a way to do what you have to do without making enemies of them.”

“So you’re telling me don’t get caught.”

I nodded, and realized I was staring at her exactly the way Tarquin had all through the afternoon. Now that I was alone with her again, the mate bond inside me plucked carefully along the strings tuning my blood. “Do you like that Tarquin can’t stop looking at you?” I said, unable to help myself. Feyre’s head turned sharply, her eyes steady on mine. “I can’t tell if it’s because he wants you, or because he knows you have his power and wants to see how much.”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Of course. But having a High Lord lusting after you is a dangerous game.”

Feyre’s facade finally caved in a little, her tone dropping a bit tired. “First you taunt me with Cassian, now Tarquin? Can’t you find other ways to annoy me?”

_ I don’t want to annoy you, Feyre. I want to - _

I took an automatic step to cut the thought off in my head. On edge - I was so completely on edge here. Having Feyre around my brothers, males I trusted heart and soul, was one thing. But around Tarquin - would she actually be interested?

Would  _ he _ ?

I braced a hand over either side of Feyre’s head against the dresser. And was pleased when she didn’t lean into the drawers away from me as I held her gaze fast and sure.

I knew exactly what I wanted. And what did Feyre want? My court was on the line for this, depended on what she did.

Maybe it wasn’t the mate bond driving me half as insane as I’d imagined. Maybe it was the feeling that for once, I wasn’t the one determining the future of my lands. Feyre was.

“You have one task here, Feyre,” I said. “One task that no one can know about. So do anything you have to in order to accomplish it. But get that book. And do not get caught.”

Feyre’s chin dipped lower towards her chest, the grey of her eyes twinkling. “ _ Anything?”  _ she asked me, causing my brow to lift at the suggestion. Her voice became breathy - sensual. As she thought of  _ him _ . “If I fucked him for it, what would you do?”

When Feyre finished the question, it wasn’t the High Lord of the Night Court, nor even her friend who reacted. It was that same primal beast who prowled beneath my skin, the one I’d felt walking the breezeways as another male looked at my mate.

A rush of blood moved through me, making my muscles tense. Indeed the wood on the dresser groaned beneath my hands as I fought off the urge to let predatory instinct take over and unleash my talons so I could protect what  _ felt _ like mine, even if it really wasn’t.

And that mouth of hers - the things it said, the things it might  _ do _ .

And I knew right then looking at it  _ exactly _ what I would do if Tarquin fucked her. And I wasn’t proud of it.

“You say such atrocious things,” I said, the closest I could manage to confronting the issue that burned up the mere inches separating us without seizing her lips then and there. I held off a moment longer to finish swallowing my pride. “You are always free to do what you want, with whomever you want. So if you want to ride him, go ahead.”

Somehow, the words costed me a great deal more than they had when I’d teased Feyre with Cassian outside the Weaver’s cottage.

And Feyre knew it. “Maybe I will,” she said, keeping hold of my gaze.

Our lips were close, her forehead nearly touching mine. She was smaller and larger than me at the same time with all that power rolling about under her skin, drifting off of her in waves. It drove me mad.

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine.” She didn’t move at all.

Neither of us did. “Do not jeopardize this mission.”

And I swore I could see the sea itself rise up in a wave within those eyes of hers, washing the grey away into that bright crystalline blue that appeared when she felt too much. This was the first time ‘too much’ had felt  _ good _ rather than worrisome.

There was a candle sitting on her dresser. I motioned toward it, but didn’t take my eyes off her. “Light it,” I challenged.

Feyre lingered on me for an added second, and then looked at the candle. Her body hummed with the power, so strong I felt as though I could reach out and taste it straight off her tongue. She looked at the candle, her mind reaching for that glowing power of the Autumn Court, but a tidal wave rose, crested, and fell with a mighty crash instead.

The dresser was soaked, never mind the candle.

Feyre finally didn’t look quite so incensed at me as she took in the mess. I laughed. “Can’t you ever follow orders?”

A million beads of water rose gracefully into the air around us sparkling like diamonds. I almost stepped back as I took the sight of them in. They were gentle. Peaceful. And looked of everything I felt when the Darkness was all around me.

A gift to Feyre from another High Lord - one Feyre found herself inclined toward.

She had never summoned darkness so easily, nor even at all, after days in the Night Court. Yet here she was not even two hours in the Summer Court with a different sea and salt scent drifting out of her.

“I suggest you not show Tarquin that little trick in the bedroom,” I said, and felt all of those glimmering beadlets pummel me before I could so much as blink.

Playful. But also irritated. And somewhat dismissive.

But it was still Feyre and her radiant energy, as ever, as I stared open mouthed at her and willed a smile.

Perhaps I had been wrong to come here thinking I would not look for more than my friend - my ally from Under the Mountain - to share the weight pressing in on me from every turn, without feeling consumed by the heat and the lust and the bond threading up and down my soul.

“Good work,” I said. “Keep practicing.” I pushed off roughly from the dresser, needing and hating the distance from her all at the same time. Cauldron, there still wasn’t much separating us.

“Will he go to war? Over me?”

Water slid softly down my skin, caressing my cheeks, sticking to my skin underneath my tunic as I stalled.

A lifetime of High Lords chasing her. That was the fate that awaited Feyre however long she stayed with me in the Night Court. Or even here if she were ever to find a home with Summer. Tamlin might one day fade away entirely from her vision, but who would rise up to grapple for her then?

And would I be able to help? Would she even factor me into her equation?

Was it right that I even wanted her to when I knew the risks.

Azriel would send word if Tamlin grew too restless so long as we visited Tarquin. Though the borders of the Spring Court remained sealed, my brother would find a way to know if danger became imminent. The question now was - would Tamlin dare?

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

The heated temper that had been blooming in Feyre simmered down as she understood my answer. “I - I would go back,” she said. “If it came to that, Rhysand. I’d go back, rather than make you fight.”

My lungs tightened. At the certainty in her words despite the way they trembled at first. She meant it and would not retreat, whatever it may cost her.

I knew. I would do the same thing when it came down to it for my crown.

My pocket made a faint squishing sound as I slid a hand inside to steady myself. “Would you  _ want _ to go back?” I asked. I needed to know, just as much for myself as for her. If it came to this one day - I couldn’t let the beast inside me win out over Feyre’s decision. “Would going to war on your behalf make you love him again? Would that be a grand gesture to win you?”

The sound of Feyre’s breathing grew unsteady in my ears. “I’m tired of death. I wouldn’t want to see anyone else die - least of all for me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

A brief pause.

“No. I wouldn’t want to go back. But I would. Pain and killing wouldn’t win me.”

She wasn’t scared anymore. She was past that now. Tamlin couldn’t contain what Feyre had already become during her brief departure. And she wasn’t even quite tired the way she had once been. Feyre could do and burn and build now without falling down even if she felt like she couldn’t.

But what Feyre had become was cognizant enough to see the corruption around her and admit it was neither what she wanted nor what she deserved. And that she wouldn’t stand for it just because her heart beckoned her to.

That was why Tamlin had balked at letting her too far in. In a way, he had never lied to her. Losing Feyre to the outside world was a loss he truly wasn’t willing to suffer, even if it killed her in the end anyway.

A part of me wondered what would have happened if Amarantha had met this Feyre Under the Mountain - the one who walked in not in the name of love, but simply in the name of truth. This girl who was bright and full of pleasure and cunning, and so many hidden lights that it made Prythian too awful to deserve hosting Feyre’s human heart.

That world included me.

I walked away from Feyre, both wanting and denying. Pieces of myself littered the floor in the wake of my steps.

“He locked you up because he knew - the bastard knew what a treasure you are,” I said, pausing at the door. Feyre’s brow furrowed. “That you are worth more than land or gold or jewels. He knew, and wanted to keep you all to himself.”

Feyre spoke at once, but her posture slumped against the dresser as though even she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. “He did - does love me, Rhysand.”

_ Rhysand _ .

She said my full name in ways that were not intimate, were not familiar. Ways that put an ocean between us inside a single room.

“The issue isn’t whether he loved you, it’s how much. Too much. Love can be a poison.”

I couldn’t bother with door. Instead I winnowed, before that very same poison Tamlin and I both suffered the effects of could sink its fangs into my bones too deeply for me to come crawling back again.

* * *

I’d told Feyre love could be a poison, for feeling it too much.

_ Too much. _

That’s what I felt in the Summer Court as Tarquin sidled up to Feyre almost as soon as we met on the barge upon that calm, luminous sea of his after sundown. Feyre accepted his hand to the dinner table, looking radiant in golds and pinks that made her skin appear sun-kissed, fresh from a day spent under open skies.

So when I followed their path, and intentionally took a seat next to Cresseida preparing for the evening to come, I cut off whatever I could feel of the bond. Didn’t listen as Feyre engaged Tarquin in conversation I couldn’t stomach. Didn’t watch them once so long as she sat there and Feyre let Tarquin undoubtedly stare at her.

Easy. It was so easy for him. To earn her trust, her respect.

No one would ever think ill of the High Lord of Summer as they would the Demon of the Night.

Cresseida did enough staring for the both of us to be miserable the entire night anyway. I waited a few minutes to see what she might do with me sitting next to her, sipping wine as though it tasted dull and flat. If she initiated any interest in me at all, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. I didn’t need Amarantha’s voice cackling in my ear to know so.

But she didn’t. She just stared at her cousin, and occasionally looked up to scan the room for Varian or some such acquaintance I couldn’t fathom.

Maybe it was wrong to take advantage of her loneliness. Especially when I felt it so keenly myself. And maybe it was worse to _ know _ that I was taking advantage, letting the idea of Feyre spending the night tucked against the body of the male sitting down the table from me spurring me further in to it.

Either way, there were things I needed to know. So I took a sip of wine and settled my tongue.

“No young paramour to accompany you tonight, Princess?” I kept my voice a low easy tease. Cresseida didn’t take her eyes off of Feyre.

“Don’t flatter me when your pet is sitting across the table, Rhysand.” I supposed that’s what I got for calling her nicknames.

“Feyre is law unto herself, as I think you discovered at our lovely little lunch this morning.”

“Is that why you looked so decidedly bored at lunch? Not yet won her heart? And here I was thinking you found us all as dull as you do anyone not of your own court.” She drowned herself in a deep sip of her wine, colored a dark red stain.

“And where might you have heard that little untruth, hmm?”

Cresseida snorted, a scowl written across her face. “Please. Your reputation precedes you.”

She probably expected me to dismiss her then, the same way her own flesh and blood continued to do. To say that she had her own reputation and it was equally disenchanting. Which was precisely why that tactic wouldn’t get me anywhere past the frigid exterior.

I shifted in my seat, leaning gracefully over so that my lips were a breath away from her ear, and purred, “That’s not the only reputation I’m known for,  _ Princess _ .” I pulled back. Only enough to keep our chairs distinctly separate.

Cresseida arched one single, solitary brow against her dark skin, her eyes - vibrant even in the dim lighting - sliding to find me smirking at her. Her long silver hair fell evenly down to her breasts. “Is that so?” I picked casually at the cuffs of my tunic, toying with a stray thread or some such thing. Cresseida sunk back into her own chair. “I don’t believe I’m well versed in that reputation. You’ll have to fill me in,  _ High Lord _ .”

A feline smirk. “You may call me Rhys.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Most women are. You being the exception, I think.”

“You have to ask?”

“I’d like to find out.”

Her eyes flashed, and she quickly reached for her wine glass and took another long sip. “You’re horribly obnoxious, but I trust you know that already.”

Tarquin chuckled across the table. I decided then was an excellent opportunity to run a finger along Cresseida’s hand that rested on the table, tracing the delicate bones beneath with my fingertips. Cresseida stilled. 

“Another reputation I’m well known for, I’m afraid. But can you blame me? Especially when I was privileged to hear so little from that delightful mind of yours at lunch.”

Cresseida stared for one very long moment at her cousin before deciding. And for the first time all evening, I followed that gaze down the table to where Feyre was looking at the High Lord of Summer with something like admiration.

“Tell me what that look means,” Tarquin asked her.

“I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you. And easier to call you my friend,” Feyre replied, her eyes swimming like moonlight on a lake.

Easy. For Tarquin alone, Feyre would easily give her heart away. Which meant I would have to crawl through blood and tears and sweat to have a chance at it, as I did through all of history for anything I wanted.

I should never have listened, even for those few brief moments. The damage done was enough.

_ Too much _ .

Cresseida’s fingers lifted gently, giving a little thrum along the table, her mind made up. I continued my tracing along her skin.

“There aren’t many men who care to hear what my mind has to say these days,” she said, finally dragging her eyes away from Tarquin and Feyre, whom I sensed were amusing themselves well in a less deceptive, ridiculous way.

“Many men are past idiocy. Women, too, I’d imagine, to dare handle someone with such candor.”

“So it’s true then?” she asked, the purr in her voice beginning to match my own as her fingers danced beneath mine. “You are not afraid of the Lion of Spring set forth to retrieve his bride from the Lord of Night?”

“I’m far more concerned with the Siren of Summer, if you must know, Cresseida.” My fingers gave a little squeeze.

She smiled then - not nearly so feline as my own smirking had been. But soft and pleased. Enjoying the attention she never received elsewhere, even if she still suspected its sincerity. Her fingers curled into mine. I gave her a cocky smile in return, the one only Illyrians used when they caught the scent of something they liked.

Nevermind that the something I liked was sitting across the table dressed in shades of the sunset, while Cresseida made for a dashing distraction in wit and temper.

She would hate me for deceiving her like this, if she ever found out. Tarquin and Varian’s own wrath wouldn’t even compare to what Cresseida would harbor in her heart for betraying her trust, the one thing I think she valued more than all else. Someone to believe in her.

Her feet curled up under her as she leaned in, her fingers toying with me just as much as mine did her. When she returned the favor of speaking so seductively in my ear, I could feel her lips just brush my skin. “What worries you so, Lord of Night, that you would run from a siren in the sea?”

Sadness - looming and great opened up in front of me as Feyre jumped from her seat, disturbing the table. I moved only enough to look at her, register that she had suddenly moved, and felt one last flicker of unhappiness before she was on her feet again leaving the room, the bond going still again.

I wasn’t sure what it meant. And I wasn’t going to care. I was too exhausted to care. Too isolated, too lonely to let that ache inside my chest plague me more than necessary whilst we stayed here, subjected to feeling the mate bond slap me in the face repeatedly.

If Feyre could have a fuck with Tarquin, she could handle a night of dealing with the repercussions of that relationship without it breaking me too.

I had work to attend to for my crown anyway.

“What do I have to fear from a siren of the sea?” I said with a chuckle as Feyre walked away, leaving my heart behind but far from peace. “Oh a great many things I’m sure. Perhaps... you could enlighten me.”

Cresseida watched me ravenously. She’d ask me to bed by the end of the night, I was sure. I tried to focus on the fact that I wasn’t obliged to go through with it to stem the sick feeling twisting in my gut from rising.

“What did you have in mind precisely?”

My lips curled sweetly into a smile as I let starlight dust my eyes and damn my nerve. “Care for a drink, princess?”

* * *

She wasn’t at breakfast.

I took my time working through the various jams and breads that had been set out, listening to Cresseida continue the stories she had left off on last night. I liked Cresseida well enough, but I was too bored with her voice to care and too distracted by Feyre’s absence to really deign a reply.

She’d taken me out into the city, to one of her favorite drinking spots - a restaurant she’d taken a particular interest in renovating when the city resumed its agency after Amarantha’s fall. It overlooked the bay. We could see Tarquin’s ship docking from the open terrace of the bar that had something like coral climbing over the columns of the open facade.

While Cresseida looked more than disappointed when I politely refused her invitation to bed later that evening, it seemed my willingness to give her a listening ear for an evening would keep me in her good graces - for now.

So I let her prattle on while I waited for Feyre, wondering if Tarquin had stayed with her after the ship had turned in for the night. The Lord of Summer himself looked bright-eyed and full of sunshine when I met him with Amren and Varian for our morning meeting.

But Feyre never appeared all morning even after I’d stayed late to enjoy a long breakfast. Nor did she come at lunch.

So I was forced to wait for her until her scheduled appointment with Tarquin finally arrived.

I didn’t like that he was there - or anyone else for that matter. Cresseida was a little sharper again when we sat down to meet with her cousin and brother, and have our first formal discussion of court politics and the war to come. It was uncomfortable sitting next to them, a sorrowful affair keeping the mask up and knowing where Feyre would take it next when Tarquin took her on her tour.

The discussion was smooth, though not without the same snap and petty commentary we endured at meals with one another. And there was a willingness from Tarquin to cooperate that I found myself returning, and cursing myself for it if everything went horribly wrong.

We met Feyre in the main hall after our little chat. She was already there waiting. Styled in an endearing shade of seafoam green in a dress that twirled around her, Feyre looked bright. Too bright, I noted. As though something were changed inside her. Tarquin stepped before her in a tunic of nearly identical styling and it was then I noticed - saw the sunlight bounce between them, tying them together.

A heavy weight fell into the pit of my stomach, a little lump of teeth and claws and a feeling much too sharp to be simple annoyance.

“You’re looking well today,” Tarquin said with a chipper voice.

_ The voice Feyre said she could love _ \-  _ easily. _

_ But also the one you could befriend yourself, jackass. _

Feyre finally made to turn her head, but her eyes found Amren. Not mine. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.

“We were finishing up a rather lively debate about armadas and who might be in charge of a unified front,” Amren said with her usual cool. “Did you know that before they became so big and powerful, Tarquin and Varian led Nostrus’s fleet?”

Yes, Amren. Because Feyre needed yet another reason to be enamored of the High Lord. As if on queue, Feyre looked delighted with this new piece of information.

“You didn’t mention you were a sailor,” she said, her eyes lighting up. Tarquin had the decency to looked embarrassed.

“I had planned to tell you during our tour. Shall we?” He offered his arm and my stomach flipped, turning the beast inside of it upside down with rage. I shouldn’t have felt so incensed. Mate or not, Feyre was free to do as she pleased, but she hadn’t even  _ looked _ at me, and now she was taking his arm and leaving without sparing me a second thought.

Was this punishment for ignoring her at dinner? Was this what she thought I deserved for playing so many cruel and wicked games with a man she could come to call friend or lover?

I found myself leaning forward, willing her to stay. To at least say hello, that we were still okay. To not walk off so easily with this other male who didn’t have to ask for her hand to receive it.

But all Feyre did was call, “See you later,” throwing her words carelessly over her shoulder as if she knew it would wound me.

It worked.

The beast burst from my stomach and clawed viciously at Feyre’s mind, to beg her to at least be careful, but I was met with a wall of glistening adamant that locked me straight out.

And she knew it. I knew she could feel me at the edges of her mind trying to get in. Feyre turned her head like she might acknowledge me, make some comment -

_ Calm down you stupid prick... _

But she stopped when her eyes reached Tarquin, and then she  _ smiled _ . Smiled like the sun and it was all the things that had been missing from her life - the fun, the radiance, the simple joy in living with someone close to you.

Feyre smiled - for another male who was not her mate.

The beast inside me didn’t back off so much as die completely as I watched her walk away into the day, and get swept up by the seaside and its hidden treasures.

* * *

The second I could free myself of our Summer Court hosts, I stalked inside Feyre’s room to wait for her. Amren, with her careless daring, had sensed my discomfort and attempted to convince me I should tell Feyre about the bond then and there. “Get it over with,” she’d said. “You’ll feel better.” As if revealing the deepest, most intimate parts of myself were something to throw about with Feyre, no harder than ripping off a bandage.

“You don’t just get it over with with a mating bond, Amren,” I’d snarled in her face, before marching into Feyre’s room and snapping the door shut. She would probably have slashed my face in half if I hadn’t gone inside.

I didn’t care. I was going mad inside waiting for Feyre, the mate bond gnawing on me every single second she was gone - with  _ him _ . Risking her heart and the future of my court with whatever charms she laid.

No wonder my father hadn’t waited so much as a day to take my mother back to Velaris be his bride.

They took their time touring the treasuries and each tick of the clock was another chance for me to guess at how Tarquin might enthrall Feyre and bring her under his spell. I didn’t even remember the Book she was supposed to be tracking. All I could think about was the two of them finding themselves wrapped up together in the most intimate positions.

Just as I thought I might become sick with the thought of Tarquin’s hands on Feyre’s skin, I scented her approach. I threw myself on her bed, my arms propped casually behind my head as if I had belonged here all along. The devious creature inside me settled in atop the sheets and argued that indeed I did belong right here - in Feyre’s bed.

I closed my eyes satisfied as Feyre walked in briskly. Let her see how she liked being toyed with.

“What do you want?” Feyre snapped, allowing the door to slam shut behind her. I smiled, selfishly glad of her immediate annoyance.

“Flirting with Tarquin did you no good, I take it?” I asked, voice smooth as honey.

A box landed roughly on the bed next to me. “You tell me.”

“This isn’t the Book,” I said, looking at the necklace housed within its little velvet nest. It was, of course, stunning. And Tarquin had just  _ given _ it to her?

“No, but it’s a beautiful gift.”

Her casual dismissal set me off. All at once, that primal, restless creature I had thought dead at Feyre’s smile roared to life within me once more, pushing and pulling on my tongue.

“You want me to buy you jewelry, Feyre, then say the word. Though given your wardrobe, I thought you were aware that it was all bought for you.” I didn’t even care that my anger was ripping through the edges of my voice. For her part, Feyre sounded tired through the veil of her annoyance with me.

“Tarquin is a good male - a good High Lord. You should just ask him for the damned Book.”

I snapped the box shut, nearly shattering it from the force of my hands in the process. I was surprised the darkness had not come for how upset I felt hearing her defend  _ him _ . He’d done nothing. Tarquin had done _ nothing _ . “So he plies you with jewels and pours honey in your ear, and now you feel bad?”

“He wants your alliance - desperately. He wants to trust you, rely on you.”

“Well, Cresseida is under the impression that her cousin is rather ambitious, so I’d be careful to read between his words.”

A look flashed in Feyre’s eyes, so fast I almost missed it. But it spelled out her own sort of rage curled within in her chest. I felt a ripple of her power underneath her skin as she snapped, “Oh? Did she tell you that before, during, or after you took her to bed?”

I looked up sharply.

So that was it then? She didn’t like me playing with  _ Cresseida _ ? But surely she saw it for the act it was? Had our time Under the Mountain and in Velaris shown her nothing if not that much? What I wouldn’t do to protect my court?

Had I not flirted and pushed and poured enough heat between us that she’d know I couldn’t possibly want another woman but her?

Distantly, I was aware of the cackling reply Amren would have given me followed by a curt, “No, boy,” if she’d heard me ask the question. Mor would have backed her up on it.

I rose from the bed slowly, trying miserably to appear collected. “Is that why you wouldn’t look at me? Because you think I fucked her for information?”

“Information or your own pleasure, I don’t care.” There was enough bite to confirm that Feyre really  _ was _ pissed about my evening. The beast inside me writhed with delight. The very idea that Feyre might be jealous to any extent was a thunderous sound in my ears.

Feyre hated me, or at least... she had before.

But I didn’t think - I never thought she could feel… not about me. Not when I was working so damned hard just for a  _ look _ or a smile. Just one fucking smile.

The bond drove me to her, putting barely any space left between us. “Jealous, Feyre?” I purred, my eyes gleaming against her as she stared me down.

“If I’m jealous,” she said, “then you’re jealous about Tarquin and his honey pouring.”

I almost erupted on the spot with every ounce of night and darkness available to me.

“Do you think I particularly like having to flirt with a lonely female to get information about her court, her High Lord?” I demanded. “Do you think I feel good about myself, doing that? Do you think I enjoy doing it just so you have the space to ply Tarquin with your smiles and pretty eyes, so we can get the Book and go home?”

“You seemed to enjoy yourself plenty last night.”

“I didn’t take her to bed,” I snarled. I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. Was this how Cassian had felt sparring with Nesta? “She wanted to, but I didn’t so much as kiss her. I took her out for a drink in the city, let her talk about her life, her pressures, and brought her back to her room, and went no farther than the door.”

The words spilled out my mouth, my breathing uneven as I became unhinged, Feyre watching me with widening eyes and dawning comprehension. “I waited for you at breakfast, but you slept in. Or avoided me, apparently. And I tried to catch your eye this afternoon, but you were so good at shutting me out completely.”

_ I tried _ , I wanted to say.  _ I tried so damned hard to make this easier for  _ you _ even while it felt like it was killing me to have her wrapped up in my seat while you were so close by with him. I’m trying every day just to get a glimpse of what you’re giving so freely to everyone else but can’t find space in your heart to give to me because I’ve become that much of a mess. _

Feyre grew very still, surveying me, taking in the wildness she wasn’t used to seeing from me. I’d hardly been this unhinged in front of her - in front of anyone except Mor on select occasions. “Is that what got under your skin? That I shut you out, or that it was so easy for Tarquin to get in?” she asked, hesitant.

Yes.

No.

All of it.

Everything.

_ Mine _ .

“What got under my skin is that you smiled for him,” I said, choking on the words. The creature inside me went limp.

I wanted her. Cauldron, I wanted her so badly and I couldn’t have her. That was really all there was to it. I had fought tooth and nail for that smile for months and she had given it to Tarquin in less than two days.

“You are jealous,” she said with a small voice. Her lips seemed to quiver, her eyes sympathetic.

_ Of course I am, Feyre. I’m your mate. _

_ But it’s your choice - always your choice. _

I would not be Tamlin.

I slumped and made for the bar table in the corner of Feyre’s room, throwing back a drink as wings threatened to form at my back. My control over my body felt tenuous at best, a feeling that unsettled me, I was so depleted.

Maybe Mor and Amren were right. Cassian too. Maybe being more honest with Feyre to take care of myself wasn’t something to feel so guilty about. I threw back another sip of alcohol and let the burn out of my lungs.

“I heard what you told him,” I said. “That you thought it would be easy to fall in love with him. You meant it, too.”

“So?” Feyre asked and my mind was filled with nothing but that smile she had given the High Lord of the Summer Court. It could burn my mind to pieces for centuries to come as easily as the smile itself had been given.

“I was jealous - of that,” I explained. “That I’m not… that sort of person. For anyone. The Summer Court has always been neutral; they only showed backbone during those years Under the Mountain. I spared Tarquin’s life because I’d heard how he wanted to even out the playing field between High Fae and lesser faeries. I’ve been trying to do that for years. Unsuccessfully, but… I spared him for that alone. And Tarquin, with his neutral court… he will never have to worry about someone walking away because the threat against their life, their children’s lives, will always be there. So, yes, I was jealous of him - because it will always be easy for him. And he will never know what it is to look up at the night sky and wish.”

I didn’t think Feyre had been expecting that.

There was a silence that filled that bright, tranquil room and when Feyre came to stand next to me, my heart in her hands, I could see a redness gathering on the rims of her eyes.

Broken. We were both so broken in so many ways fighting for the only truths we had left to protect. But she understood me - or part of me. And knew that I had let her see something profoundly vulnerable that few others ever bore witness to.

I watched as Feyre simply poured herself a drink and then refilled my own before she met my eyes. Compassion burned into that gaze, deep and permanent, reassuring me I was not the only lonely dreamer there.

“To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys,” she toasted.

It was hard not to feel so much of that solemn gloom still, but I clinked my glass with Feyre’s in spite of it anyhow and toasted back, “To the stars who listen - and the dreams that are answered.”

For once, it felt like someone was out there listening to every word we said.


	6. Chapters 35-37: Not A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys helps Amren and Feyre not get caught while stealing the book from Tarquin.

Feyre wore quite the number to dinner two days after our little heart-to-heart. And I wasn’t sorry she did.

I only saw her in the evenings. When I’d come visit her room with Amren to debrief the day’s meetings and check-in on where we stood with the Book of Breathings. Feyre had found nothing thus far and Varian’s commentary on armada fleets was still dry as toast.

But the meetings kept Feyre free of Tarquin - and Cresseida, who watched her like a hawk. We seemed to have come to some sort of mutual understanding since I’d snapped in her bedroom and Feyre didn’t seem to mind so much how much time I kept with Cresseida just as I didn’t mind so much when Tarquin’s gaze consumed her over dinner.

It was simply work now. Even the delicate, smokey grey dress hugging Feyre tightly as the gift from Tarquin she’d shown me wrapped a pretty little bow around her neck on full display. All of it work.

I’d been taking meetings with Tarquin and his family when a soft knock tapped on my shields, a knock that carried the pine and sunshine of Feyre with it. I offered her a sliver to curl her fingers into and received a brief vision of an old, tired building out on a tiny island of sand half buried by the tide. That was all she handed over before she slipped outside again and I knew.

She’d found where the Book of Breathings was hidden - or at least, where she thought it was.

And Nuala had certainly done her job well helping Feyre to confirm it. Tarquin had looked smug every time he admired the jewels glittering around her throat over cocktails and appetizers infused by the sea.

But I had a feeling Feyre wouldn’t have needed the necklace, nor the dress. She was a marvel all through dinner on her own, dancing past Cresseida’s frosty exterior until it had melted into a cool regard, as well as Varian’s feeble attempts at biting back commentary in all the wrong places. And the stories she wove about her day in the city were smooth and well inflected enough that Tarquin was charmed before he’d finished his first glass of wine.

_ I _ was charmed just watching her orchestrate it all. She was so focused now that she’d scented blood in the water.

“You ate it right there,” Tarquin said, complete surprise when Feyre revealed she’d eaten fish straight from the docks that day. Her face was all aglow. Tarquin may have wanted to marry her right then.

I suppressed a sigh.

Soon we’d get the book. Soon we’d betray these kind, welcoming people and repay their hospitality with lies and grievances. I hoped very much - for their sake - that Feyre didn’t fail getting in and out of that house out to sea undetected.

I leaned forward instead, chin on my fist as I rejected dinner altogether to listen. Feyre was much more delicious anyway. “They fried it with the other fishermen’s lunches,” Feyre said proudly. “Didn’t charge me extra for it.” Tarquin roared with laughter.

“I can’t say I’ve ever done that - sailor or no.”

“You should. It was delicious.”

“Well, maybe I’ll go tomorrow. If you’ll join me.”

This time, I didn’t mind so much when Feyre smiled at him, her grin stretching ear to ear. She’d told me this was difficult on her. It was difficult for me too. And the smiles... maybe I had been too caught up in them to realize she felt the weights of this mission as keenly as I did.

And even if it was for another male or for work or just for the hell of it, what did it matter? Feyre was radiant. And I hadn’t given her enough credit in this. That should have been enough.

Feyre was also acutely nervous. I returned to my plate, eyeing a particularly fat prawn with more interest than was strictly necessary.

“I’d like that,” Feyre told Tarquin. She meant the words a great deal. And yet - “Perhaps we could go for a walk in the morning down the causeway when the tide is out. There’s that little building along the way - it looks fascinating.”

My eyes reached up only long enough to note the immediate exchange Tarquin held with Cresseida, who almost forgot to finish bringing her fork all the way to her mouth.

Feyre had found the first half of the Book indeed, it seemed.

“It’s a temple ruin,” Tarquin said - bored. “Just mud and seaweed at this point. We’ve been meaning to repair it for years.” I cut into my prawns carefully.

Set Nuala and Cerridwen within the castle to check rotations and layout. Amren and Feyre could monitor the perimeter. I’d circle above to check the turrets and towers.

My mind was already ablaze on instinct with strategy, years of finishing one war only to prepare for the next.

“Maybe we’ll take the bridge then,” Feyre offered. I’ve had enough of mud for a while.”

Tarquin’s eyes narrowed. And so too, did Varian’s.

I slid my claws along the interior of Varian’s and Cresseida’s minds and was startled to feel Feyre do the same to Tarquin, her mental shields breaking as she fixed her concentration solely on the Lord of Summer.

Varian and Cresseida’s barriers were like sand - densely packed, but easy to mold and sculpt with a little moisture misting over it. Their dinner plates and recollections of today’s meetings suddenly became  _ fascinating _ as I gave a gentle, suggestive squeeze inside their minds - one I could regret later.

It was a good thing taking care of the siblings was so easy. Feyre was  _ quite _ the distraction herself. She slipped inside of Tarquin’s mind like a glove, her fingers flexing and pulling inside the sleeves as she impressed him with his own aura of sea and sun. Until Feyre nearly  _ was _ Tarquin - even felt like him across our bond. Her scents born of spring and earth were suddenly gone, replaced by Tarquin’s distinctive notes.

Years.

Centuries.

It should have taken  _ centuries _ to whizz about inside his mind and reorder the thoughts and sentences to her liking before she slipped out unnoticed as she did tonight. Tarquin gave her a lazy, reverent smile. “We’ll meet after breakfast,” he said. “Unless Rhysand wants me for more meetings.”

Cauldron, he really had no idea what Feyre had just done.

She was - I didn’t know what Feyre was anymore. Any number of adjectives didn’t seem capable of describing her in person or in powers.

I waved a hand, ignoring that Cresseida and Varian still hadn’t stirred from their meals. “By all means, Tarquin, spend the day with my lady.”

I didn’t need to be jealous anymore. Feyre was on the hunt and she’d scented blood. She ignored my little remark and looked to Tarquin cooly, batting her eyes and purring like a queen.

“Tell me what there is to see on the mainland.”

Tarquin forgot all about the little shack on the causeway.

I almost did too.

* * *

“What a fast learner you are,” I crooned in Feyre’s doorway, after the servants and members of the palace had all retired for the evening. “It takes most daemati years to master that sort of infiltration.”

Feyre’s face pinched from where she lay back on the bed, torn between pride and guilt. “You knew - that I did it?” she asked.

I affirmed that I did. “And what expert work you did, using the essence of  _ him _ to trick his shields, to get past them... Clever lady.” I wondered what essence of myself she could use to fool me. What Feyre might do if she sent a dream mighty enough to the stars for reply.

“He’ll never forgive me.” Her voice was barely audible. She was watching me squarely, waiting for a reprieve or a damnation.

“He’ll never know. You get used to it. The sense that you’re crossing a boundary, that you’re violating them. For what it’s worth, I didn’t particularly enjoy convincing Varian and Cresseida to find other matters more interesting.” Her head lolled to the side and I sagged slightly against the threshold. She should be proud of what she’d done - despite the repercussions. “If you hadn’t taken care of Tarquin, the odds are we’d be knee-deep in shit right now.”

“It was my fault, anyway - I was the one who asked about the temple. I was only cleaning up my own mess.” Her face again pinched as she swiveled her head from side to side.

Was that what this was about? Residual guilt over whose fault it was? My stomach clenched, tinging with worry. Keeping Tarquin from the truth that could damn or save both our courts was a far cry from slaughtering innocent fae for the sake of an evil bitch’s evening entertainment.

“It never does,” I admitted. “Or it shouldn’t. Far too many daemati lose that sense. But here - tonight... the benefits outweighed the costs.”

“Is that also what you told yourself when you went into my mind? What was the benefit then?”

She sat up and waited for me to reply. Concerned, but... not quite so much for where we stood so much as where her own moral compass drew its lines.

Honesty. A little at a time. That was all Amren and Mor had asked of me, and it had worked for Feyre and I on this trip so far - to an extent.

I could offer a little more.

Pushing off the door, I held Feyre’s gaze as I walked softly to the bed and sat next to her. It was the most comfortable things had felt between us since we’d arrived. That made the discourse easier. “There are parts of your mind I left undisturbed, things that belong solely to you, and always will. And as for the rest...” Her chest rose, waiting.

_ Just a little more... _

My mind went rigid at those memories, those empty days and lonely nights she’d spent in the manor of Tamlin’s court. But I could do it. I could tell her how I felt. “You scared the shit out of me for a long while, Feyre. Checking in that way... I couldn’t very well stroll into the Spring Court and ask how you were doing, could I?” She held absolutely immovable, and then heard Amren’s approach at the same time I did. It wasn’t long enough to gauge what she thought, but I wouldn’t let her go all the same. “I’ll explain the rest some other time.”

My Second pushed through the door nonchalantly and owned Feyre’s bed as she climbed atop. “It seems like a stupid place to hide a book,” she said, no preamble. We might have been chatting about needlework or some such sport for all she cared.

“And the last place one would look,” I said. I stood, letting Amren take my spot while I sat by the window. The sea sparkled behind me in greeting amid the waiting moonlight. Perhaps this would be the last I’d see of Adriata for a long while. I silently asked the stars that gleamed above that sea for the opposite. “They could spell it easily enough against wet and decay. A place only visible for brief moments throughout the day - when the land around it is exposed for all to see? You could not ask for a better place. We have the eyes of thousands watching us.”

“So how do we get in?” Feyre asked.

“It’s likely warded against winnowing. I won’t risk tripping any alarms by trying. So we go in at night, the old-fashioned way. I can carry you both, then keep watch.”

“Such gallantry,” Amren said, “to do the easy part, then leave us helpless females to dig through the mud and seaweed.”

“Someone needs to be circling high enough to see anyone approaching - or sound the alarm. And masking you from sight.”

Much as I worried for alerting Tarquin, that I might never make it back to this city on friendly turns, Amren’s quick wit had me missing home - missing my friends. It would be equal parts burden and freedom to remove ourselves from Tarquin’s shining seaside palace.

Feyre too seemed to share that worry. She looked the most tense I’d seen her all week during out stay. “The locks respond to his touch; let’s hope they respond to mine.”

_ They will _ , I thought, thinking of how easily Tarquin himself had bent to a single caress from Feyre over dinner. I wasn’t worried about Feyre anymore. It was the rest of the court who worried me.

Suddenly, I longed for the freedom of the skies.

“When do we move?” Amren asked.

I was about to jest that we should do it now, just so I could get out of this palace for a few hours to clear my head. But Feyre seemed to know just what I had in mind, answering first, “Tomorrow night. We note the guard’s rotation tonight at low tide - figure out where the watchers are. Who we might need to take out before we make our move.”

“You think like an Illyrian,” I said, gaping a bit.

“I believe that’s supposed to be a compliment,” Amren added. I snorted. Yes, I was very much looking forward to returning home to our family, where Amren’s sharp tongue was hissing at Cassian and Azriel instead of me (most of the time).

I stood, and enjoyed the cool release of Night air under my skin as I anticipated the next several hours of work under the thought of  _ home _ . “Nuala and Cerridwen are already on the move inside the castle. I’ll take to the skies. The two of you should go for a midnight walk - considering how hot it is.” Feyre gave me a sharp, battle ready look. Dangerously anxious - but excited.

It was the last thing I saw as I slipped outside into the seaside darkness and took to the skies.

* * *

I was selfishly fortunate that I did not have to endure Tarquin’s charms for the majority of the day. And that Cresseida and Varian were easier to trade jabs with and ignore.

Feyre came back when the sun was highest, looking haunted, but managed to keep up her spirits reasonably well through dinner, even as Tarquin continued to wish her well and express his sorrow we were departing on the morrow. Sorrow that was real and genuine, my gut realized, twisting in horror.

He pulled me aside in the middle of drinks afterward, and I felt like I could have been sick listening to him look out at his city the way I sometimes stared at Velaris from the House of Wind or my townhouse roof. He wanted an alliance. And freedom for not only his people, but all of Prythian.

My blood raced and I had to settle my heartbeat, lest he hear it quickening in my chest. I could have asked him then... Asked for the Book, and kept Feyre and Amren from such enormous risk the following day, but...

Tarquin’s focus was his court in front of him, those shops and towns and boats surrounding the sea. He was the same High Lord that I was - nothing if not dedicated. Which meant there was no guarantee he wouldn’t sell us out or accidentally let slip the information I’d be forced to give up in order to freely acquire his half of the book, and that was decidedly the one thing I could  _ not _ do. It risked far, far too much.

So I focused on Feyre, keeping her upright when Tarquin kissed her cheek before bed. His eyes were so light, merry. Like he trusted us.

Feyre and Amren met in my room, dressed in fighting leathers and adorned with knives the way High Fae wore their jewels. We barely spoke. Nuala and Cerridwen had already departed. Azriel likely knew by now to expect us.

Casting my glamor over the three of us, we left the palace of Adriata in the still of night one final time, knowing we would not be back. Only the sound of the restless waves below and my wings tormenting the air behind us broke that icy silence we flew through.

Gently, I let Amren and Feyre down at the little temple out to sea, squeezing Feyre’s hand before letting go:  _ Don’t get caught, but please be safe. _

I didn’t have to tell Amren to do the same for Feyre in return.

* * *

I waited several long minutes in the sky, circling overhead. The guards stationed about the palace didn’t so much as look in my direction as I kept watch.

Below, Feyre and Amren were quiet.

But the bond was alive with restless energy - one I didn’t recognize or understand. It drove me insane waiting.

Feyre.

Amren.

The Book.

My court.

_ Prythian _ .

The names of places and players traded stations of importance like a shuffling dance the longer the temple door remained shut. My insides tensed, but the guards never moved. Not once.

The Book. We had to get the Book. It contained everything. It was worth Tarquin’s wrath if we had to betray him. To save Prythian with it, to keep Velaris safe...

Anything. I’d do  _ anything _ to make sure Amren got Feyre out with that book alive. Anything to -

The sea shifted - all at once in a great sweeping wave that seemed to move backwards from its natural tide. And promptly collapsed in a great heap upon the little temple that sent a wave of pure, carnal power radiating outward toward the city, searching...

I felt it hit me, the weight of it dragging me down out of the air, alerting me to the threat swimming about within the four stone walls below.

_ Danger _ , it said.  _ Thieves _ .

I moved just as the first guard called out on the topmost palace tower. Another scurried down the bridge way, heading for a door. My wings tucked in and I shot down, an arrow piercing through the air, before landing and connecting with the side of the guard’s head against my bare knuckles.

Two more guards flanked me on either side as the first sentinel went down. One seemed to take a step back as he spotted the wings looming behind me, eyes blown wide. The other drew his sword and lunged, begging his brother to join him in the fray. Knife in hand, I slashed back and disarmed them both without much thought, my senses suddenly on overdrive, hands and muscles moving of their own accord.

And it felt  _ good _ , the power in those fists. One I hadn’t truly touched in a very long while.

Why had I delayed getting back in the ring with Cassian? With Azriel? This was  _ easy _ . The only thing in life that was. This - I was born for this.

Another wave of power crested against the palace, this time angrier than the last and just as urgent.

I flew from station to station casting swords aside and bringing guard upon guard down, savoring the feel of their blood curdling at the sight of me if it kept the guilt from Tarquin discovering my work from coming.

But where was Feyre and Amren? Where was the  _ Book _ ?

That little door in the sea remained shut. But the sea thrashed about more and more intensely with each body that fell to my command.

A third wave of warning hit as motion to my right caught my attention. A guard lunging for the doorway inside. I landed, the ground cracking like veined marble beneath my feet, and twisted the man’s arm back so painfully he cried out and lost his concentration. He fell to the floor unharmed, but unconscious.

My heart was pounding in my chest. Bodies. Too many bodies and not enough  _ Feyre, Amren _ .

Horror struck me down where I stood, rooted to the spot. Though there was no blood, I’d made a mistake. Tarquin would need only see the fallen to know what had transpired against him. My stomach knotted. We wouldn’t even be able to leave a word of goodbye like this.

Why hadn’t I just broken into their minds? Held the palace in ignorance rather than fight them all off?

_ Because you’re a fool, that’s why. A fool who has forgotten how to trade one weapon for another. _

A flash of metal through the air caught my sight, and I was on the verge of attacking once more when - there. I felt it. Relief and freedom. Fresh air pouring into Feyre’s lungs as she hit the surface and swam for her life.

I followed the bond through the air until I found her and Amren pulling themselves on the shore. Behind me, the guard I left behind shouted and disappeared inside.

Too late now.

My leathers groaned tightly all around me as I landed on the sand in front of Feyre and Amren, who were drenched head to toe and looked like they’d just emerged from hell itself. “What are you two doing?” I asked, unable to make sense of what had happened in the absence of that bond.

The Book was nowhere in sight.

Amren sat up and almost spat at my feet in the sand. “Where the  _ hell _ were you?”

I gaped at her. “You two set off every damned trigger in the place. I was hunting down each guard who went to sound the alarm. I thought you had it covered.”

Her eyes turned to slits. “That  _ place _ ,” she hissed at me, “or that damned book, nearly nullified my powers. We almost drowned.”

Drowned. They’d come  _ this close _ to death and I... I hadn’t even known. I looked sharply to Feyre, feeling like I could fall over. “I didn’t feel it through the bond-”

“It probably nullified that, too, you stupid bastard,” Amren said, venom dripping off her tongue.

Shit.

Cassian was right. I was rusty.  _ Very _ rusty.

“Did you get it?” I asked, my question directed specifically to Feyre. I’d deal with my own ineptitude later. She merely tapped her chest where a small, indiscernible lump lay hidden. Shouting taunted me from the palace. “Good,” I said, reaching out and grabbing the pair of them off the floor. Feyre still hadn’t said anything, but she looked alarmed at how quickly I moved, taking in the activity at the palace. “I missed some guards,” I mumbled tightly and winnowed.

Winnowed far, far away where the truth would catch up with me soon enough.

The townhouse was a welcome sight. Even Cassian’s cursing as Feyre and Amren toppled together onto the carpet, a mess of sand and sea and storm.

“What the hell?” My general shot up out of his chair at the dining table, Mor and Az right behind him looking stunned. This wasn’t the welcome home they had planned, surely.

“I’m waiting for an explanation too,” I said, feeling hot, and coming around to survey Amren and Feyre properly now that there was decent light.

Amren looked less than pleased as she ignored me, and gaped at Feyre. “How?”

Feyre blew out a stream of air. “During the Tithe, the water-wraith emissary said they had no gold, no food to pay. They were starving. So I gave her some of my jewelry to pay her dues. She swore that she and her sisters would never forget the kindness.”

It made no sense. Absolutely no sense, even as I sniffed and could just pickup the lightest notes of the wraiths on Feyre’s skin where they must have pulled her to freedom in the sea.

Feyre, for her part, looked like she might be slightly sick just thinking on it.

“Can someone explain, please?” Mor said. Amren chuckled, wholly at Feyre.

“What?” Feyre was squinting at her.

“Only an immortal with a mortal heart would have given one of those horrible beasts the money. It’s so...”  _ Human _ . She laughed - hoarsely, but a laugh all the same. Amren rarely bothered. “Whatever luck you live by, girl... thank the Cauldron.”

Feyre considered what Amren had said for a moment before her lips twitched, and a chuckle was birthed between them. A chuckle that quickly grew into a full, rich, exasperated laugh shared only between the two of them. They fell back onto the carpet.

Mor, for once, did not look inclined to join in on the private joke. Azriel’s shadows were flying in and out of him, bees relaying honey - or death? - to their master. I looked at Cassian, and he shrugged.

_ It is what it is, Rhys _ .

I sighed and suddenly realized how exhausted I was. And if I knew Tarquin as the High Lord I suspected he was, further unpleasantries were on the horizon. “Ladies,” I said. Feyre and Amren ceased their cackling at once. They found themselves cleaned via Amren’s magic by the time we joined our party at the table.

Feyre stood upright as she reached inside her chest pocket and pulled out a small, metal box that clattered in ancient warning against the table. Everyone stared.

“One last task, Feyre.” Only her eyes moved to spot me motioning. “Unlock it, please.”

She sank into a chair, her hands shaking a little as she placed them on the table. I could have sworn the box almost jumped at the sudden nearness of her power, it was so alive. So  _ aware _ .

Feyre’s lips pursed, a sly brow going steadily up after a heartbeat had passed, and she said to no one in particular, “Hello.” No one - except the box. “No,” came her next reply - curling and curious and distinctly  _ other _ .

The power thrumming through the room was obvious, but it fell upon my ears as though muffled, Feyre the only channel to understanding it. Her hand laid flat on the lid. “Please,” she said. Nothing happened. Feyre’s fingers pressed tightly. “Open.”

I would have drawn a deep breath if I’d thought it wouldn’t disturb her process. Whatever was going on inside that Book’s mind, I didn’t like what it foretold.

As quickly as the box had appeared from Feyre’s pockets, it opened with a sudden  _ click _ . Feyre sat back at once. “I never want to hear that voice again,” Cassian said darkly.

“Well, you will,” I replied, the only one willing to reach out and remove the lid. “Because you’re coming with us to see those mortal queens as soon as they deign to visit.”

Feyre sagged further in her chair. But her gaze remained sharp, as did we all when the lid was gone and the stone tablets within that dingy little box were revealed. Amren sat bolt upright, her face made of stone.

The plates were carved in an ancient language. None of us touched them. Even just looking at the lines of script none could read felt like a violation. Heat raced through me from a mere glance at the first word - a silent warning of intrusion.

Was this what it had felt like when Feyre had to trick Tarquin’s mind? The wards around the temple? The Book itself? Dark and foreign and unwelcome?

“What language is that?” Mor dared to ask. I didn’t have to answer for Amren who rattled like a snake staring dumbfounded - and maybe even a bit  _ afraid _ .

“It is no language of this world,” she said, her voice quiet.

Azriel matched her pace. “What is it, then?”

“It is the Leshon Kaodesh. The Holy Tongue.” Her eyes were shining. It seemed I’d chosen well to keep this secret from her. Had the Book been a failure in this regard, the devastation for Amren would have likely destroyed her.

Gently, bracing her for the full realization that her freedom was at her fingertips, I spoke, “I heard a legend that it was written in a tongue of mighty beings who feared the Cauldron’s power and made the Book to combat it. Mighty beings who were here... and then vanished. You are the only one who can uncode it.”

“Don’t play those sort of games, Rhysand.” Mor’s warning was not a joke. I shook her off.

“Not a game. It was a gamble that Amren would be able to read it - and a lucky one.” Amren’s eyes sharpened, finding me with nostrils flaring, braced to attack. I wondered that smoke didn’t pour forth from them. So much emotion boiling inside the one who pretended to feel so little. I smiled. “I thought, too,” I carefully explained as Amren studied me and debated whether or not she’d enjoy slashing my throat or ripping out my heart more, “that the Book might also contain the spell to free you - and send you home. If they were the ones who wrote it in the first place.”

Amren didn’t move. Not one single inch.

“Shit,” Cassian swore.

“I did not tell you my suspicions, because I did not want to get your hopes up. But if the legends about the language were indeed right... Perhaps you might find what you’ve been looking for, Amren.”

Finally, she spoke, but her voice was chained to death. “I need the other piece before I can begin decoding it.”

I nodded. Anything she needed. “Hopefully our request to the mortal queens will be answered soon.” My eyes fell on the carpet - stained with sand and salt and water. Another dark blot to fall on the pages of history from my court. “And hopefully the next encounter will go better than this one.”

That lit the fire back inside Amren. “Thank you,” she said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did not speak again for some time - to anyone.

Mor gave a dramatic sigh and the tension in the room cracked. “So what the hell happened exactly? I’m not exactly sure how water wraiths resulted in all this mess.” Her chuckle was half-hearted, broken off by Azriel’s musing interruption.

“Even if the book can nullify the Cauldron... there’s Jurian to contend with.” Mor again looked as uneasy as the rest of us. “That’s the piece that doesn’t fit. Why resurrect him in the first place? And how does the king keep him bound? What does the king have over Jurian to keep him loyal?”

A sly shadow snaked along Azriel’s arm, disappearing at the fingertip he tapped along the wood grain of the dining table. I wondered if it didn’t disappear inside that metal box still sitting untouched.

Finally, I sat. “I’d considered that,” I admitted. “Jurian was... obsessive in his pursuits of things.” Selfish. “He died with many of those goals left unfinished.”

Mor leveled a flat stare at me. “If he suspects Miryam is alive-”

“Odds are, Jurian believes Miryam is gone. And who better to raise his former lover than a king with a Cauldron able to resurrect the dead?” Mor looked away, blinking back a near groan.

Cassian braced himself against the table, his hands landing well away from the Book. “Would Jurian ally with Hybern just because he thinks Miryam is dead and wants her back?”

I looked at Feyre, who sat quietly by taking every word in. I doubted she knew any of the story, but she was already familiar enough with it. Azriel hadn’t needed to send word of Tamlin after two days in the Summer Court, but I wouldn’t doubt he’d do anything to get back the woman he loved if he thought it within the realm of possibility. Especially when it was with  _ me _ Feyre now resided.

Jurian would be no different.

“He’d do it to get revenge on Drakon for winning her heart,” I said. At least Tamlin wouldn’t have that  _ exact _ problem. I gritted my teeth. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Feyre found me watching her from across the table. She looked as tired as I felt, but there was something there considering me in that gaze. Something quiet and steadfast.

Her chin dipped almost imperceptible, and I felt a smooth, soothing stroke along my adamant walls requesting access:  _ To the dreams that are answered _ , she told me, and was gone.

I followed her across the bridge, melting into the touch I applied wishing it were her skin. I was so tired. But she’d made all of this worth it.

_ To the huntresses who remember to reach back for those less fortunate _ I breathed to her,  _ and water wraiths who swim very, very fast. _


	7. Chapter 38: Rhys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys receives the blood rubies from Tarquin and goes into quite a brooding mood that only Feyre can pull him out of. But later that night, he suffers a terrible nightmare. Once again, Feyre helps him process his thoughts and feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual Abuse/Rape TW for this chapter!!!!!!!!!

After breakfast and shooing everyone out of the townhouse for some peace and quiet, Feyre retreated to her room, nearly falling asleep on the stairs. I had half a mind to join her if it hadn’t been for the pleasant weather and the little knot of anticipation riding my stomach.

Sure enough, it was mid-afternoon when Azriel landed at the open balcony to my study, the box I’d been waiting for held between his hands. It was carved finely of wood, and as I bid Azriel enter and watched him set it on my desk, I could see the mother of pearl inlaid at the center to form an impressive, imperial dagger.

“Any word?” I asked.

Az shook his head, his wings flexing taut behind him. “It arrived at the Court of Nightmares twenty minutes ago with no other detail.”

My lips pursed together as I ran a hand over the lid. I could practically feel Tarquin’s wrath, his disapproval as though he were right before me when my fingers brushed the pearl. A sick feeling swept over me.

“Go check on him,” I told Azriel. “See how serious he is about,” I waved my hand dismissively over the box and all the hopes I’d born that its arrival shattered, “...about this.”

“It’s done.” Azriel was out the window and gone before I could blink.

I snatched the box and went outside where the sun was still shining over the townhouse rooftop. I set it on the ledge and stared at it, summoning the first liquor I could find and pouring myself more than a healthy portion. The liquid burned my throat raw and I welcomed all of it, that searing heat.

Finally, I lifted the lid - and there they were.

Three luminous red rubies, glimmering in the setting sun. Each the size of a large egg and full of blood and vengeance and promise.

I didn’t know how long I stared at the gems, only that the sun had sunk considerably lower by the time I closed the lid and that my disappointment was sinking with it.

_ You fool. You great, ignorant fool. _

I took another sip from my glass letting it sting me down.

_ To have dared think for one moment you might have found an ally in another man’s court, another dreamer - a friend. _

Velaris began to glow with a steady rhythm before me, my view of the city winking into existence with lights here and there that would soon take over after darkness fell. For this, I had to remind myself, for this I could lose everything. Even... even a partner like Tarquin, and his dreams for a greater free world.

My chest heaved as my wings fell to the floor while I stared at Velaris and tried -  _ tried _ to remember what had brought me here.

The pine hit me first, always the strongest and clearest of her scents. Followed swiftly by the grass and sun carried by the wind. Feyre cleared her throat. “I know you’re there,” I said. For once, I was not comforted by those scents enveloping me.

“If you want to be alone, I can go.” Her voice carried quietly on the air, willing to go or stay - whatever I wanted. She was being... easy for me, reasonable. Narrowly, I shirked at the chair next to me and Feyre shuffled forward to take it after a pause. She went straight to Tarquin’s gift on the table next to where my decanter sat.

Feyre’s eyes widened, as if she could feel Tarquin beneath the lid too. “What is that?” she asked.

_ My damnation _ , I thought, snatching the decanter to refill my glass and drown in another gulp of it.

In the distance, the Sidra shimmered in hues of red and gold as the sun touched down upon the horizon.

“I debated it for a good while, you know,” I said, clenching the glass in my fist. “Whether I should just ask Tarquin for the Book. But I thought that he might very well say no, then sell the information to the highest bidder. I thought he might say yes, and it’d still wind up with too many people knowing our plans and the potential for that information to get out. And at the end of the day, I needed the  _ why _ of our mission to remain secret for as long as possible.”

_ But you could have tried. Tarquin might never had betrayed you. He trusted you. He welcomed you. You could have had a friend in this war, but you cursed his name and spat in his face instead... _

My fingers tightened, daring to shatter the glass as I brought it to my lips and fought off the desire to rip my hair out.

“I didn’t like stealing from him. I didn’t like hurting his guards. I didn’t like vanishing without a word, when, ambition or no, he did truly want an alliance. Maybe even friendship. No other High Lords have ever bothered - or dared. But I think Tarquin wanted to be my friend.”

Feyre kept strictly serious at my side, either willfully ignoring what I’d said or too unsure what to even say as she went back to the box. “What is that?”

“Open it.” The lid gave a faint moan on its hinges beneath Feyre’s touch. She didn’t say anything as she saw the stones inside. “Blood rubies,” I told her silence. “In the Summer Court, when a grave insult has been committed, they send a blood ruby to the offender. An official declaration that there is a price on their head - that they are now hunted, and will soon be dead. The box arrived at the Court of Nightmares an hour ago.”

I felt more than saw Feyre draw a deep, slow breath. “I take it one of these has my name on it. And yours. And Amren’s.”

My eyes fell on the rubies and my power crackled out of me until the box had snapped shut. I didn’t want to look at them anymore. I wanted to hurl them into the Sidra a considerable distance away and never tell Amren, never see Tarquin again, or know that I had wronged him.

“I made a mistake,” I said as Feyre jumped back from the box. “I should have wiped the minds of the guards and let them continue on. Instead, I knocked them out. It’s been a while since I had to do any sort of physical...” my muscles still ached with the feeling of fist meeting flesh at the palace, “defending like that, and I was so focused on my Illyrian training that I forgot the other arsenal at my disposal. They probably awoke and went right to him.”

“He would have noticed the Book was missing soon enough.” Feyre sounded sharper. Clearer. It made me angry.

“We could have denied that we stole it and chalked it up to coincidence.” Could have saved... whatever trust had grown between us. I drained my glass, but managed not to throw it against the table. I would not be... violent. “I made a mistake.”

“It’s not the end of the world if you do that every now and then,” she said, understanding dripping from her lips so casually.

I scowled. “You’ve been told you are now public enemy number one of the Summer Court and you’re fine with it?”

“No. But I don’t blame you.” It was hard not to look at her then, but my eyes wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t budge as the sun dipped finally over the edge and the city refused to meet night, sparkling instead like a sheet of diamonds in the sky. Little lights twinkled everywhere, a friendly reminder of why I’d lost everything again.

My breath came out unevenly.

_ I blame me _ . _ That’s the problem _ . _ If we lose this because of what I did to him, it’s all my fault. _

Feyre scooted a little closer to me. I almost wondered that she might reach out and touch me somehow, but she didn’t. I wasn’t sure if that emptiness made me relieved or all the more lonelier. “Perhaps you could return the Book once we’ve neutralized the Cauldron,” she suggested, “apologize.”

I snorted. “No. Amren will get that book for as long as she needs it.”

“Then make it up to him in some way.” She fidgeted, a trace of irritation behind the words. “Clearly,  _ you _ wanted to be his friend as much as he wanted to be yours. You wouldn’t be so upset otherwise.”

“I’m not upset. I’m pissed off.”

“Semantics,” she scoffed, and finally I turned to look at her and found a scowl waiting for me.

She was still so unaware. So endearingly determined to see past it all.

“Feuds like the one we just started can last centuries - millennia. If that’s the cost of stopping this war, helping Amren... I’ll pay it.”

Over and over again. I’d be the villain to make history forget its saviors and the good they protected.

“Do the others know - about the blood rubies?”

“Azriel was the one who brought them to me. I’m debating how I’ll tell Amren.”

“Why?”

The rubble and destruction we had seen on our visit would become a mere fraction of the fires she would start, the dead a small pebble among a sea of graves. Only ash would remain of that seaside palace. I repressed a shudder.

“Because her answer would be to go to Adriata and wipe the city off the map.” Feyre shuddered for me and I felt the power go straight through my bones. “Exactly.”

We both stared back out at Velaris. What was the death of one city to me at the gain of saving another? My mind felt warped. Too many questions, too many what ifs. I was the High Lord of the  _ Night _ Court, not Summer.

But the courts shared a duty to all of Prythian. That included myself.

My gaze swept over the long length of the Sidra, how it carried the city lights sweetly along the water, drifting from shop to shop, person to person. Anything to save this city, even at the cost of myself. There was so much life out there, but part of me would never be entitled to any of it for what I had do for my crown.

Still, somehow, looking at the treasure laid before me, part of it did not feel worth it. Not today.

Feyre’s breath was visible on the air when she spoke, the chill night having taken over. “I understand,” she started softly, “why you did what you had to in order to protect this city. And I understand why you will do anything to keep it safe during the times ahead.”

My stomach tightened. A reminder that I would pay further prices in the war to come for what I loved. “And your point is?” I said, the words sounding unpleasant, even to me.

But Feyre didn’t flinch. If anything, she shifted even further toward me and there was a kindness blinking back at me when I looked in her eyes. “Get through this war, Rhysand, and then worry about Tarquin and the blood rubies. Nullify the Cauldron, stop the king from shattering the wall and enslaving the human realm again, and then we’ll figure out the rest after.”

_ After _ .

“You sound as if you plan to stay here for a while.”

She straightened sharply. “I can find my own lodging, if that’s what you’re referring to.” Her eyes narrowed in that playful feline look I sometimes gave  _ her _ . “Maybe I’ll use that generous paycheck to get myself something lavish.”

Lavish. Like that necklace Tarquin had given her, before she’d scoffed shortly after at my own offer to buy her jewels and finery.

“Spare your paycheck,” I bit out. “Your name has already been added to the list of those approved to use my household credit. Buy whatever you wish. Buy yourself a whole damn house if you want.”

Her voice was a song calling out to me as she nestled in at my side, softly, sweetly... “I saw a pretty shop across the Sidra the other day. It sold what looked to be lots of lacy little things. Am I allowed to buy that on your credit, too, or does that come out of my personal funds?”

When my eyes slowly slid over and caught her gaze, Feyre was blinking up at me, holding my gaze with a knowing, piercing look. She cared. It hit me so hard then, a stone across my chest or an arrow through my wings. This wasn’t just a game to her. Her face was bright and teasing, but her eyes held steady - held  _ me _ steady through my worst.

And just when the Cauldron had seen fit to give me some small piece of my mate to care for me, all I could feel was that empty sinking feeling that I had just damned myself and my entire world for what I’d done to Tarquin, to get that book.

“I’m not in the mood,” I mumbled, and readied for the solitude that would follow. But Feyre’s head dipped forward, keeping my gaze from turning.

“I never knew Illyrians were such morose drunks.”

“I’m not drunk - I’m drinking,” I ground out, anger flashing through me.

Feyre waved a dismissive hand. “Again, semantics.” She removed herself from my side, settling back in her seat and staring up at the stars. Her body sprawled about casually, openly. And I noticed how it no longer looked so starved. Every day there was one less bone visible to count through her clothes. “Maybe you should have slept with Cresseida after all,” Feyre offered. “So you could both be sad and lonely together.”

“So you’re entitled to have as many bad days as you want, but I can’t get a few hours?”

“Oh, take however long you want to mope. I was going to invite you to come shopping with me for said lacy little unmentionables, but...” She kept her gaze trained on the heavens, but I could have sworn a faint smile almost ghosted her lips, “sit up here forever, if you have to.”

A wave of anger rolled over in my blood, melting into interest. The emptiness I’d felt earlier, not emptiness at all perhaps.

“Maybe I’ll send a few to Tarquin,” Feyre mused, as if she could see the outfits she’d already picked out in her mind before her now, “with an offer to wear them for him if he forgives us. Maybe he’ll take those blood rubies right back.”

_ Blue. She’d wear blue for Tarquin or maybe that seafoam green he was fond of. But for me, I’d have her in - _

“He’d see that as a taunt,” I said and found Feyre’s eyes shining at me, the vixen.

“I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he’d give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.”

“Someone thinks mighty highly of herself.” I drew the sentence out, swirling the dark liquor around my glass. Feyre shrugged, carefree and indifferent.

“Why shouldn’t I? You seem to have difficulty  _ not _ staring at me day and night.”

_ Red. Red lace and barely there, hugging every single one of those delicious curves of her skin that were coming back to her the more time she spent away from the Spring Court, safe and taken care of. It would make her body look like it’d been set alive with life and fire, and I would lick at every flame she offered. _

Fine, Feyre. You win.

“Am I supposed to deny,” and I set my glass down to stare at her properly, “that I find you attractive?”

“You’ve never said it.”

“I’ve told you many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you.”

Her shoulders shrugged again, and her head lolled against the back of her chair. “Well, maybe you should do a better job of it.”

My hands tightened on the table, bracing to keep myself from pressing my body over hers. It would be too easy - she was sprawled out so deliciously on the seat. I decided then and there that that would be how I would have her, one day if she ever let me, spread out beneath me where I could touch her as I pleased until my mate was limp with indulgent pleasure against me.

My voice came out a rich purr, all anxiety forgotten as I looked at Feyre and saw excitement spark in her eyes at how close we’d gotten. “Is that a challenge, Feyre?”

The corners of her lips tugged. I begged them to go up more. “ _ Is _ it?” she asked, her own voice grown thick.

A jolt went racing through my core. She was practically inviting me to touch her. Her mouth was full and parted just enough that if I kissed her, I could slid my tongue inside and taste the sensations of her mouth. Would she moan? Would she grip me back as my hands and lips searched her chin, her neck? As my teeth grazed down the column of her throat...

“Why don’t we go down to that store right now, Feyre, so you can try on those lacy little things - so I can help you pick which one to send to Tarquin.”

Feyre’s chin dipped, her lips parting further. And for a heartbeat, I thought she might actually say yes, if the arousal that just hit me before I spotted the blur of darkness whirring about the sky was any indication.

Azriel came to land on the rooftop several feet away in two great strokes of his wings. Feyre was out of her chair and making for the stairwell before he’d even touched down, the scent of her arousal lingering near her seat and -

And down the bond, which stood open and bare to me with every step Feyre took. Wicked delight lit my soul.

“Tarquin’s-”

I cut Azriel off with an abrupt shushing noise, my hand help up as I rested back in my seat and closed my eyes. “Just... give me a sec.”

In my mind - I pictured the scene. And made sure Feyre did too:

_ Feyre’s steps slow to a creeping pace as she spots the shop beside the Sidra, feels the heat creep up her neck as I enter with her and politely nod at the shop ladies while she enters a dressing room stall. She snags the lace set off the table as she passes, eyeing me viciously over her shoulder. _

_ It’s red. Good. _

_ Her nerves go through the roof while we wait for her to dress, dancing along the bond between us so strongly that even she could feel the tension through the curtain separating us. A curtain that she sweeps back... and then reveals herself to me. _

_ She wouldn’t know how much my breath would catch or my blood would boil, or how hard it would be not to spring out of my seat and grab her, push her back, back, back into the stall and against the wall to take her lips with mine at the very sight of her in that poor excuse for lingerie. I can see her nipples peaked through the fabric, and the way her skin glows against the red straps... Cauldron boil me. _

_ Feyre bites her lip as I look her over twice and then dismiss the shop ladies. They lock up and leave us be. And suddenly, we’re alone. With nothing but desire and intensity in the space between us. Too much space, I decide. _

_ I crook a finger at her, a finger I’d like to tease and stroke her with, and murmur across the room, “Come here.” _

_ She lifts her head high and prowls to me, not a cat but a lioness, stalking toward her mate in heat across the savanna. My legs part so she can stand between them, her hands bracing on my shoulders as my own search her thighs, the sweet seductive curve of her hips. The lace feels incredible beneath my fingertips, but nothing compared to her skin. _

_ Feyre.... _

_ The word is moaned across the bond to her or maybe it’s just in my mind, but I taste it on my tongue as my lips meet her stomach and suck, my cock straining in my pants and begging me to stand so I can remove every last article of clothing that stands between me and my mate. My tongue flicks out between my teeth and Feyre’s back arches slightly as her grip tightens on my shoulders. _

_ She cries out in pain _ .

My eyes fluttered open as Feyre rubbed the spot on her head where she slammed into a beam or some such absurdity in stairwell, and cursed me down the bond -  _ Prick _ \- before throwing her shields back in place.

But I swore I could still feel the heat. I swore the care in the way she’d looked at me was still there. And I swore Feyre felt  _ something _ now even if I wasn’t sure how far that something goes.

Azriel smirked at me where I sat grinning like an adolescent Illyrian fool, looking oddly smug. I knew he could scent me. He could probably still scent Feyre too. His eyes flitted briefly to the stairwell where she left and I suddenly couldn’t help but feel a little laid bare watching those shadows of his consider.

_ Mate... _

A tense silence.

“I was going to offer taking you out with Cassian,” he said, “But it looks like I don’t need to.”

“Just, tell me what happened with Tarquin,” I replied, getting out of my seat and deciding another glass of liquor isn’t quite what I needed anymore.

Azriel shrugged. “Nothing. He’s fuming from what I can tell, but there’s no word anywhere within Adriata or elsewhere in the court of readying for attack or sending anyone after you. I think...” Azriel considers a moment, and it makes my face tense waiting. Finally, he shook his head. “I think he’s pissed as hell, Rhys, but he doesn’t mean it.”

My face must have fallen. I threw my hands in my pockets and faced the city. “Oh he means it. He didn’t just lose a secret precious to his court today. He lost a secret precious to all of Prythian, to the dawn of creation itself. If being High Lord means half as much as the title means to me, he’ll make sure to find a way to make me pay for it even if it isn’t with my life.”

“You don’t-”

“Yes, I do.”

A chill gust of wind rose up then, biting at my skin and forcing my head up to the sky. It would be nice to fly. When I looked over, Azriel was watching me thoughtfully, his gaze dancing between me and the stars. “Do you want to...”

The flick of his brows upward is the only end to the sentence I receive before I gave him a small smile - a thank you. And together, we took off into the night.

* * *

_ “Rhys.” Her silky voice coos in my ear, low and sweet, her hair falling to form a curtain around me that blanks out her face. My fingers find their way into the strands, curling around them in a fistful and gripping it tightly. Straddled above me, her hips move over me in an aggressive rhythm I hadn’t expected, but that I thrust into all the same until she’s moaning for me. “Rhysand.” _

_ My eyes snap to her at that and I see the vicious glow increase in her gaze as her hips move more harshly, grating a rough course on my cock. It feels horrible. It feels wrong. _

_ Amarantha runs her long fingers over one side of her hair so that her face catches the dull light of the room and I can see the red sheen of the strands, like freshly slain blood. It’s no wonder Feyre couldn’t look at the color for so long. _

_ Feyre - _

_ “Yes,” Amarantha croons, her hands flattening my shoulders into the mattress. “You thought it was her, didn’t you?” Her smile is torture. “But can your Feyre do this, Rhysand, hmm?” Her hips give a rough motion over my cock while she leans down to lick my face, her tongue trailing across my cheek until it ends in a low cackle at my ear. _

_ I’m going to be sick. I’m going to throw her off of me if I can just get my shoulders out from under her hands, but the second I shirk, a terrible pain flares and I realize she’s somehow gotten me to spread my wings. They’re pinned to the bed with stakes. _

_ A long, sharp fingernail rakes over my lip. _

_ I’d thought it was Feyre... _

_ A sob racks out of me. “Ooh,” Amarantha says, her voice full of mock sympathy. “If you insist then.” _

_ Suddenly her body is different - is Feyre’s. Dark blond hair drips down from her shoulders and Feyre’s blue eyes stare wildly at me, but they aren’t her own. I can still hear my name ringing horribly in my ears: “Rhysand.... Rhysand... Rhysand...” _

_ “Is this what you want?” Feyre says. She has stopped working me, but her words are just as awful. “You’d rather this human whore than a faerie queen?” Feyre gives me a horrible smile when the tears sting my eyes. “Touch me, Rhysand. Go on. You want to, don’t you?” Her hands grab mine and lead them up her body. It’s just as starved and scrawny as it was the first day I brought her to the Night Court. I shudder and try to pull away as they reach her breasts, but Feyre - Amarantha - makes me keep going until I’m at her neck, my fingers curled around the delicate skin. _

_ My eyes widen, shocked and terrified because I know what she means to do now. And there is no darkness to guide me. No night. No stars. Only her and her venom. _

_ “Go on Rhysand,” Feyre purrs. _

_ Rhysand. Rhysand. Rhysand. Only my enemies call me Rhysand. _

_ This is not my Feyre. My chest heaves to no avail. _

_ “Touch me.” _

_ Feyre’s hands yank for me and underneath my own touch, I feel her bones snap - and I’ve killed her. Her body falls against my chest, but somewhere in the room, I still hear a wild cackle of triumph. Salt stings my lips as I scream, a searing pain slamming into my face. _

_ I pull on the bond - pull on it so hard to save her because it’s all I know, and mercifully, someone pulls back. _

Rhys!

_ The sound drowns out the cackle for just a moment. It’s all I can feel or see, so I latch on to it, letting it guide me out of the nightmare. _

When my eyes finally open and I’m no longer dreaming, Feyre is below me, our bodies somehow flipped though I don’t remember doing it, and she’s staring at me wide-eyed and heartbroken.

At her neck, my taloned hands curl.

* * *

“It was a dream,” Feyre said when I woke up. “It was a dream.” Her breath sounded just as ragged as my own. Here, the darkness is everywhere. But it still feels constricting _.  _ That is, until Feyre runs her hand along my arm and sends her own darkness calling out to me, flecked with night and care.

“Feyre,” she said, as she stroked me with the night. “I’m Feyre. You were dreaming.”

It took everything left in me to focus on the sound of her voice, to see through the haze and find those eyes. Grey. Her eyes were grey tonight, not blue like the dream when Amarantha had made me... made me...

I felt the darkness swell inside me, Feyre pressing it into my soul and shuddered in relief. She was real and whole and alive. I hadn’t killed her. But -

_ Touch me, Rhysand. Go on... _

“Feyre,” I said, my voice barely even audible. She blinked back nodding encouragingly.

“Yes.” Her face was sharp, so razor sharp and completely dedicated. I could see her ambition, her resilience, her worth. All those things I loved about her, she somehow found and poured back into me until I was grounded into the earth.

This was  _ my _ Feyre. I was sure of it.

And that was  _ my _ taloned hand at her throat. I pulled it away at once, my body sinking backward to kneel on the sheets whilst trying violently not to shake. My entire body felt like a prison. My wings were blown wide across the bed behind me, and my hands and feet had become unrecognizable as the beast within me fought its fae shackles, yearning to break free.

I stared at my pillow and was vaguely aware as Feyre vacated the spot and sat beside me. Just a moment ago, it had been her head lying there - dead.

“You were having a nightmare,” she said quietly.

She’d saved me. I’d killed her, but - no. She’d saved me. She’d seen this - this mess. I looked around at how much darkness the room had enveloped. I didn’t have to leave the bed to feel it creeping through every pore in the house. It was the dead of night, I must have woken her. I must have - oh, Feyre...

My body heaved.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and willed my hands return to normal, to deny the evidence of what had happened.

“That’s why you’re staying here, not at the House. You don’t want the others seeing this.”

“I normally keep it contained to my room. I’m sorry it woke you.”

Feyre’s hands fisted. In anger? Or something else? “How often does it happen?” she asked.

I turned to look at her, suddenly realizing how much I hated this, hated her seeing me like this. Naked and afraid and the least of all fae. The least of all those strengths and powers I’d willed to her when she had woken up terrified and suffered her worst.

“As often as you.”

Feyre swallowed hard, her eyes searching mine with kindness, with that compassion only she ever showed me. “What did you dream of tonight?” I wanted to weep at the answer.

So I avoided her gaze, blinking back the tears, and stared at Velaris through the windows - my city and my life. “There are memories from Under the Mountain, Feyre, that are best left unshared. Even with you.”

I’d told her once that I dreamt of only two things: Amarantha fucking me and my brothers against our will, and watching the light leave Feyre’s eyes as she died. Technically, Feyre already knew what I’d seen tonight, but damn me to hell if I was going to say it out loud. I wouldn’t - couldn’t do it. It would be as torturous as reliving it all over again.

Tentatively, Feyre touched my arm, pulling me back, not caring if I was ready to show her the truth or not. It was just a simple touch. A friendly touch. So much softer and kinder than Amarantha’s had been. “When you want to talk,” she whispered, “let me know. I won’t tell the others.”

I found warmth in the spot her fingers held.

She moved, toward the edge of the bed, but I found my hand holding on to that touch, keeping her against me. Just a moment longer. Just one more moment...

“Thank you,” I said, squeezing her hand and letting it fall away so she could escape.

But Feyre... Feyre paused, and then she leaned up on the bed so that she was kneeling next to me, searching my face before her lips reached out and pressed gently to my cheek. And it didn’t feel dominating or controlling or rough or - or any of the things that Amarantha made me feel when she touched me.

No, Feyre’s kiss was  _ loving _ . Caring. For me, not for her.

I couldn’t look at my mate as she climbed from the bed. Nor as she paused in the door one last time before she left. I didn’t move for a long while even after that. My body was loose and taut all at once thinking about that kiss and my mate and how she’d - she’d seen me at my worst and not looked away or flinched like everyone else did. Only Mor had ever come close, but even she hadn’t seen me like this.

The sheets were stark cold as I fell against them, letting my wings hang over the bed behind me whichever way they pleased. A star fell through the darkness in the air landing on my pillow. I twirled it around my finger until it danced away again falling somewhere else.

She had kissed me.

And somewhere in the darkness, my soul thought that maybe that was a little more than okay.


	8. Chapters 39-40: I Hope They All Burn in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys starts to recover with Feyre's help as they wait for the queens to reply. When word finally reaches them, they visit Feyre's sisters once more only to learn that the queens aren't as sympathetic to their cause as hoped.

The coming weeks that passed were easier. I realized it more day by day as Feyre made me slowly learn to dwell less and less on Tarquin, on what had transpired between our courts. What I might have lost.

Now there was only what I stood to lose still as we waited for the queens to reply from the mortal realms, several letters now having been sent that remained unanswered. I had Cassian send one from me personally, without the others knowing specifically what it contained. Not even Mor. I had a feeling that if it too failed to call the queens to our attention, then no letter would, but it was all I had.

I poured everything into that letter. And watched it go wondering if it would matter.

Amren took the news of the blood rubies well. I brought Mor with me, the least antagonizing of the circle and the most likely one Amren wouldn’t throttle if her temper flared. But when I opened the lid on the box and she spotted the rubies, there was only a brief flash of venom in those silver eyes before she laughed her head off. She picked up a ruby and barely gave it any examination before it fell with a heavy  _ clunk _ on a stack of paper, and that was that.

“Males are fickle beasts,” was all Amren said before dismissing us. Mor shook her head at me for being so dramatic about the affair, but she still insisted on taking me out for lunch  _ before _ she kicked my ass in the sparring ring that afternoon.

I was getting along better with the sparring itself, the training. Now that I wasn’t quite so inclined to shy away from it, I found my body craving it again, having gotten a taste of it in Adriata the night we stole the book and now I wanted more.

Cassian had Feyre out for practice most mornings and Azriel was gone every other day trying to infiltrate the palace of the mortal queens. So I waited until night fell, and I was exhausted from training with Feyre all afternoon, to go back up to that rooftop and trade blows with Cassian. He looked exhausted himself sometimes, but no matter how many times I told him beating me up for sport wasn’t necessary, he never turned me down.

“You’re easy game anyway, brother,” he told me once, chucking an Illyrian sword at me that was sharper than the sun and watching closely to see how well I’d catch it. “Besides - you could use the workout. Feyre’s gonna find a new High Lord to cross paths with if you don’t beef up a bit. You’re looking a little,” he stood back, one arm crossed and the other ending at his chin considering, “scrawny.”

He grinned like a hellion when I flashed my teeth at that. “Just fight me, you bastard.”

And he did. With earnest.

It felt... good again.

My muscles ached in all the right places, growing thicker again a little more each day. My agility came back and my foot work wasn’t such a mess anymore, and the few times I had to spar with Azriel when he wasn’t out, I didn’t have to worry about whether or not I could best him. Eventually, I’d get back on pace with Cassian as well, I knew.

Cass knew it too. He told me so everyday in the way he’d clasp my back with a twinkle in his eye after going at it all night, sometimes so long that the sun was coming up over the city by the time we retreated to our respective homes.

Occasionally, we’d find Mor dozing on the couch inside the House, an open doorway letting in a draft from the balcony while she waited for Azriel to get back. Cass would take one long stare at her before shrugging his shoulders at me and dismissing himself to go get cleaned up. I never woke her once.

But it was Feyre who made my blood race, who made me feel alive again. I wondered every time we met to train with our minds and our powers if she and I hadn’t been suffering a bit from the same depressions, the same insecurities. That day I’d gotten the rubies... she hadn’t given up on me. Maybe the teasing and fantasies had all been an illusion to keep me fighting, the same way I’d done to her initially, but as the days passed, it came to us naturally and I didn’t feel that same facade between us anymore.

No, what Feyre and I had was real. Something I could count on and trust as we trained together, learned from each other.

Her mind was razor sharp, and absorbed everything, her natural curiosity and disposition to learn spurring her own. I filled her head with every ounce of information I could about her powers, where they came from, the courts and males they belonged to originally. And in exchange, she concentrated on using that knowledge to hone the skills at her disposal into deadly weapons, until she could crackle like fire, send out waves of water and wind, and summon darkness all with ease. And look damned good too while doing it.

And all the while, she never stopped talking to me. Never stopped listening and asking and watching. The sound of her voice filled me for days on end. I didn’t have any more nightmares knowing she was close by keeping watch, at least none so out of control that I did little more than twitch in my sleep once or twice. But I hadn’t forgotten that kiss she’d pressed upon my cheek, and the promise that seemed to stand because of it: if I needed her, she would come.

We weren’t alone anymore, it seemed. I had a partner - a real genuine partner who... who cared.

Which made the mate bond tick like clockwork inside my skull.

Mor and Amren poked and prodded at me more and more every day to tell her the truth; Mor especially was insistent. But every time I went to tell her, it seemed, Azriel would come back with poor news about the mortal realms or quiet disturbances coming out of the Spring Court that he nearly missed, and I would see Feyre dancing in her flames and ice and think that she was happy. Happy without all those High Lords and enemies chasing after her. Happy... with just Rhys.

So I stayed silent, but never far. Only the days I had to be away to tame the Hewn City, when Mor complained it’d become too restless for even her to deal with, or off to neighboring cities to check in with my people, did I not see Feyre. And those days were by far the least pleasant while we waited for the queens to correspond with us.

But we remained close anyway, that little piece of paper and pen floating back and forth between us constantly.

_ How’s the temple? _

The paper came fluttering back to me midday, shortly after I’d sent her a teasing message about trying not to miss me too horribly while I was away. A letter had reached me the previous day, from one of the few surviving priestesses at the temple in Cesere, asking if I’d like to come speak with her now that things had settled and the temple had rebuilt somewhat.

_ Not well, but coming along all the same. Priestesses are resilient, determined individuals in fae culture. The attacks and ensuing deaths would be considered devastating among their kind - to us all, really. But even if there were only one priestess left among them, it would be a higher shame to give up, to not right such an injustice. _

There was a pause before her answer returned, too long given how short her question was.  _ What kind of priestesses are they? _

_ Nothing like Ianthe, I promise. Tell me something else. A thought for a thought? _

_ Ladies first _ .

I snorted at that and snatched the pen out of the air, licking the tip before writing out my reply.

_ Such a gentleman, you are. I’m thinking that it’s a shame I was so distracted after the Mountain, that I was so overcome with what Amarantha had done and trying, unsuccessfully, to process it all, that Hybern slipped in right under my nose and destroyed an innocent village. I hate that he stole something from me, even if it wasn’t technically mine in the first place _ .

Her reply came much more quickly this time.

_ You’re allowed to feel things, Rhys. You’re allowed to process and not be perfect for once. _

I smiled and wrote back,  _ So you admit I’m perfect, hmm? I do believe it is your turn, Feyre darling. _

The letter winked into nonexistence and I swore I could feel Feyre’s scowl down the bond as she wrote her reply.

_ What do you want to know? _

I considered a moment, considered where I was and how important the specific culture was to the priestesses around me. They’d lost such a dear, precious gift. And suddenly, I knew what I wanted to ask Feyre. Now that I thought she might answer me on it.

_ Tell me about the painting. _

_ There’s not much to say. _

_ Tell me about it anyway. _

Feyre was quiet for a long while before that next leaf of paper tumbled out of the wind to greet me. And all it said in her soft script was simply,  _ There was a time when all I wanted was enough money to keep me and my family fed so that I could spend my days painting. That was all I wanted. Ever _ .

Ever.

And now that desire was gone. I remembered that day by the Sidra, when I’d first shown her the artists’ quarter and she’d balked, almost repulsed by the idea of being near something she so once loved, and how I couldn’t understand it, couldn’t fathom never wanting to fly again.

But that was a long while ago now, a few solid months of food and friendship and time in between. So I replied:  _ And now? _

_ Now, I don’t know what I want. I can’t paint anymore. _

My shoulders slumped, even as Feyre couldn’t see me.  _ Why? _

_ Because that part of me is empty. Did you always want to be High Lord? _

That I did understand. That I could relate to... somewhat.

_ Yes. And no. I saw how my father ruled and knew from a young age that I did not want to be like him. So I decided to be a different sort of High Lord; I wanted to protect my people, change the perceptions of the Illyrians, and eliminate the corruption that plagued the land. _

“High Lord?” I looked up as the letter disappeared and found one of the priestesses returned from the inner temple, which had received the worst destruction of all.

“Please, call me Rhys,” I said. The priestess looked a bit uncomfortable at the idea, but nodded all the same.

“My sisters are ready to receive you now. We’ve ensured the pathway is safe.”

I gave her a polite smile and stepped forward, when Feyre’s reply caught in my hands. The priestess smiled blandly and averted her gaze, and I unfurled the paper now filled to the edges with our conversation and read,  _ At least you make up for your shameless flirting by being one hell of a High Lord. _

I snorted, and caught the priestess with a suspicious look upon her face, smirking into the sun.

The tour of the temple took the remainder of the day and was by all means well worth it, but Feyre’s words were what kept me upright through most of the proceedings, kept me from falling too far into despair with every new injury or ruin we met. Plans were made to aid reconstruction and see about adding new members to their number, even if only for a temporary time.

When I strolled into the townhouse after nightfall that evening, Feyre was lounging in the living room reading. She looked up at me bright eyed and alert. I smirked and leaned against the threshold, peering down at her. “One hell of a High Lord?” I said, skipping hellos.

Feyre’s scowl was hardly that as a torrent of water crashed over me, drenching me head to foot. I fell to the floor, feeling the rumble of laughter chasing up my chest and throat, and shook until all the water was spraying off of me and falling like rain upon Feyre next to me. Feyre - who yelped and scrambled off the couch, running for the stairs with a quiet laugh. I jumped up and chased after her, letting that roar of laughter out without question, and grinned as I saw her blue eyes dance out of sight at the top of the stairs.

She was never far, my mate.

* * *

It was one morning when I woke, and padded out onto my balcony to find the snow thawing under a considerably warmer sun that was ready for spring to bloom, that I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

“Rhys?”

I waved a hand and the door opened seemingly of its own accord, my cousin poking her head through until she found me on the balcony.

“You’re up early,” I said.

“That’s  _ your _ fault, lest you forget where I work,” Mor said, joining me outside. She propped herself up on the stone top of the railing and held her face up to the sun, eyes closed so she could bask in its full glory. She wore a soft lavender outfit, cut off at her midriff today. “I don’t understand why anyone chooses to live inside that horrible rock when the sun is this lovely.”

I snorted. “I find one generally has to be lovely in order to appreciate similarly lovely things.”

Mor winked an eye open. “There’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

“Only for you.”

“Of course,” she smiled. And pulled a letter from inside one of her pockets. “You’re being nice today, so I’ll return the favor and give you your fan mail.”

The folded letter she handed me was richly decorated, the seal of the mortal lands stamped across the back.  _ To the High Lord of the Night Court _ was elegantly stamped on its front, unlike the polite penmanship Tarquin had used to address his invitation.

I looked up at Mor.

“The queens wrote back?”

She sighed. “It would seem so.” I ran my thumb underneath the seal and broke it. “Azriel gave me the letter about an hour ago. I came straight here as soon as I could.”

An hour, yet she’d come straight here. That meant... I paused my perusal of the letter. “How is he?”

Mor’s mouth ran a tight line as she flinched and looked away. “I think he’s relieved, but at the same time frustrated he didn’t figure out their half of the book first. Like we might go tomorrow and find them handing over the book easily and he’ll have wasted all this time. I’m not sure. He’s been... difficult to get through to lately.” Her hands clenched on the stone where she sat and stared off into the distance behind her, where the Sidra waited. I rarely saw her so deflated, but for Azriel... I understood the hurt flashing in her eyes.

I laid a hand on hers and it surprised her enough that she looked at it, brows raised. I smiled softly, knowingly, when she looked up and her face sort of fell and returned the smile at the same time, her other hand patting my own as she nodded. We let the moment pass.

“So, tell me tell me,” she chirped, regaining some of that usual vigor. “What do our dear old friends have to say to us after all these years?”

I unfolded the letter and sat up on the railing with her to read it together. The queens would come tomorrow or not at all. Our choice to meet them or not.

“I guess we’re going to the mortal realms,” Mor said quietly when we’d finished. I arched a wry brow at her statement, a silent question. “Yes, yes,” she said, hopping off the rail and breezing back towards my room. “I’ll go this time, calm your tits. But what in Prythian am I going to wear...”

“Please. You already know exactly what you’re going to wear, Mor,” I called after her. “You’ve probably known for weeks since we sent off that first letter.”

She graced me with a vulgar gesture before winnowing to her rooms or maybe a shop in Velaris to search for that perfect dress. I summoned paper and pen and quickly left a note behind for Feyre to find when she finally stirred for the morning.

_ No training with your second-favorite Illyrian this morning. The queens finally deigned to write back. They’re coming to your family’s estate tomorrow. _

We left that evening right after dinner.

* * *

Nesta and Elain were a bit unhinged as Azriel took them through drafting a reply to the queens - a guide, or sorts, that provided the exact layout of the manor and its furnishing, where we would receive the queens. The knowledge had been their lone demand beyond the time. I didn’t think it did much to settle the two sisters for the coming day.

Feyre came out of her room that she shared this time with Mor wearing a flowing white dress that stood out starkly against my cousin’s red one. The trimmings were in gold, befitting a queen.

When I held the gold feathered diadem up that mirrored my own of black, she inclined her head a little more easily than before, and watched me as my fingers carefully ran down her face when I was done. The bond felt stiff between us.

“We need to go,” Mor said and strode off down the hall. The others were already waiting for us, my brothers clad in leathers and swords, Feyre’s sisters in attire befitting a court of the highest order of fae and mortal alike.

The room was entirely silent, save the crippling crackle of the fireplace where Feyre and I took our places.

The clock on the mantle place chimed. Nesta and Elain visibly stiffened. And Mor’s eyes went razor sharp as a soft glow appeared, followed by fifteen members standing before us who had not been in this household nor even this territory south of the wall a moment prior.

The mortal queens and their guards surveyed us cruelly - all save one.

They were of every shape and age and coloring as their narrow eyes passed over each of us in turn lingering here and there. One was old, two devastatingly young, and the others somewhere in between. But beyond their differing shades of skin and lines drawing their faces, or even the fact that they had  _ winnowed _ , was one feature even more remarkable to me: one was missing.

Across the room near the windows, Cassian and Azriel had the guards well prepared for defeat with a single look, should they be foolish enough to attack.

“Well met,” I said, addressing the queens at large. The youngest queen, with dark skin and golden hair, leveled a look at me and dismissed her guards, who scattered to take station around the room. It was almost difficult not to laugh at the effort.

I stepped forward, feeling Feyre’s eyes trained to my back and keenly aware of that simple movement, and watched as the queen’s sucked in a breath. “We are grateful you accepted our invitation.” No reaction. “Where is the sixth?”

The eldest of the queens blandly admitted, “She is unwell, and could not make the journey.” And then, with no further interest in me, her gaze fell just behind me - on  _ Feyre _ . “You are the emissary.”

“Yes. I am Feyre,” she replied. But along the bond she was loose and nervous. Her mental shields were lowered - intentionally in case we needed each other.

The woman darted back to me with something like a judgment coming off her tongue. “And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first few were dispatched.”

Feyre’s thoughts drifted unaware across the bond wondering what was so special about one letter in a sea of many. Thinking of that letter now and what I’d sent...

_ I write to you not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human... _

I suppressed a fond smile, and teased her quietly back.

_ You didn’t ask what was inside them. _

“I am. And this is my cousin, Morrigan.”

There was no greater pleasure to be wrought from this day, I felt, as there was watching my own flesh and blood take such bold steps - a  _ queen’s _ own steps - toward that fellow golden-haired woman and seeing her cower in reply.

The Queen of the Hewn City paused just beside Feyre. I was glad Mor had come. “It has been a long time since I met with a mortal queen,” Mor said by way of greeting. One of the middle-aged mortals shuddered as Mor’s voice carried through the room, leaning forward and clutching her breast.

“Morrigan -  _ the _ Morrigan,” she said almost gasping, “from the War.” No one moved nor spoke.

Yes, I was very glad  _ indeed _ Mor had come.

“Please,” my cousin bid them all, “sit.” And together, with a final look over us all, they did. Until every seat in the large sitting room was occupied by the five of them, their guards unmoving along the walls.

The young golden child again took up the mantle of address. It seemed she would be our main representative for the meeting, however long it might last. “I assume those are our hosts,” she drawled, looking at Nesta and Elain. The sisters stood stiff backed and chins held high at the cutting look she gave them. Elain managed to curtsy a short way.

“My sisters,” Feyre said. The queen pulled herself from Nesta and Elain, a perfectly groomed brow raising a mere hair as she turned to Feyre, and up, up, up toward the golden band of feathers reigning around my mate’s head. The queen lingered there before her eyes turned sharply on me. Beside me, Feyre knew exactly where those eyes had traveled.

“An emissary wears a golden crown. Is that a tradition in Prythian?”

No teasing. No mockery. Just simple... amusement, perhaps, if not mostly genuine curiosity. But she’d read the letter, so this was just another part of the game to her.

“No,” I said, “but she certainly looks good enough in one that I can’t resist.”

I received no friendly return. “A human turned into a High Fae... and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honor. Interesting.”

Feyre’s head rose, matching the queen’s considerate regard, and again it was an effort not to smirk. I wondered what more Feyre might become in a few more weeks or months if given the opportunity. Where we might be together, even, if ever we met the queens again.

“You have an hour of our time,” the elder queen stated, already irritated at bothering with us. “Make it count.”

“How is it that you can winnow?” Mor asked straight away. Finally, the young queen revealed some trace of enjoyment as she taunted my cousin with a smile. “It is our secret, and our gift from your kind.”

Mor was not so kind as to give her a smile back.

As the silence of waiting filled the room, I took a steadying breath and turned to Feyre. She swallowed harshly and shuffled forward, but didn’t go very far from me.

“War is coming,” she declared. “We called you here to warn you - and to beg a boon.”

I hadn’t particularly expected a reaction of great surprise from them, but the dull, muted expressions that greeted Feyre’s words were disheartening. There was no fear. No panic at the revelation. No, the queens were already aware and perhaps even... uncaring, as concerned the situation.

Silently, I cursed.

This needed to be easy. The only easy part of this entire ordeal. I supposed from their several weeks long silence at answering our letters, I should have known this would not be the case.

“We know war is coming,” the old queen said. “We have been preparing for it for many years.”

Feyre took a sharp breath and met her head on. “The humans in this territory seem unaware of the larger threat. We’ve seen no signs of preparation.”

“This territory is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interests to defend it. It would be a waste of resources.” The golden queen did not so much as soften her regard as she spoke. There was little sympathy, if any at all.

Across the room, Cassian ran his palm flatly over the pommel of his sword. I could feel the heat simpering off of Mor as Azriel watched her intently.

“Surely,” I said, with equal boredom to that of the golden queen, “the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent.”

Back and forth she and the old woman went returning our volleys. “Yes. To lose one life is always a horror. But war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it.”

Feyre’s lips parted, and her voice was hoarse. The bond between us quivering. “There are good people here,” she breathed.

“Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them,” the golden one said. I wondered that she did not give my mate a taunting smile as she had my cousin. My blood began to boil, roaring in my ears of what I might do if this child swam too close to my court today.

Nesta’s voice cut across the queens, imperial and unabashed. “We have servants here. With families. There are  _ children _ in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?”

Finally, the old woman paled slightly. Perhaps hearing the affront in Nesta’s voice at listening to her own kind so willingly betray her. It surprised me, but I supposed given what Feyre had said of her sister who burned and raged, that it shouldn’t have. That she would consider the greater offense against her family not from the fae demons across the wall, but from her own race tearing itself apart from within.

“It is no easy choice, girl-”

“It is the choice of  _ cowards _ ,” Nesta said, biting across her. The queen glared.

“For all that your kind hate ours...” Feyre interrupted, staring willfully at her sister who ignored the stare, “You’d leave the Fae to defend our people?”

“Shouldn’t they?” The queen of gold quickly turned to brass or copper as she eyed my mate like a specimen to poke and prod at. “Shouldn’t they defend against a threat of their own making?” She snorted, an adult casting down a child. My blood simmered, darkness calling at my back. “Should Fae blood not be spilled for their crimes over the years?”

Briefly, I shared a look with Cassian, recalling how he’d so greatly taken offense to Nesta’s quick dismissal of all fae for the rumors surrounding our culture alone. Were we really so expendable to them? Were our histories really so bleak?

“Neither side is innocent,” I said smoothly, “but we might protect those who are. Together.”

“Oh?” The old crow cut in again. I was quickly growing tired of how they tag teamed us with such nonchalance. Her eyes were the devil himself as she stared at me, looking me up and down with heavy disdain. “The High Lord of the Night Court asks us to join with him, save lives with him. To fight for peace. And what of the lives you have taken during your long, hideous existence?” My stomach turned to stone, darkness and night cracking my veins beneath my muscles as she  _ laughed _ at me. “What of the High Lord who walks with darkness in his wake, and shatters minds as he sees fit? We have heard of you, even on the continent, Rhysand. We have heard what the Night Court does, what you do to your enemies.  _ Peace?” _ Her eyes were incredulous. “For a male who melts minds and tortures for sport, I did not think you knew the word.”

I went absolutely silent. The queen seemed to feel it deep inside me. She knew she’d hit the mark.

It wasn’t that the mortal hags had a problem with all fae, after all. Far from it. Apparently, it was only me. Again, I was the scapegoat for my court, the villain for all mankind. The only shame, the only disappointment, the only outright  _ wrath _ that matched the heat burning my lungs as that cold, nearly dead queen cast me aside was  _ Feyre’s _ .

My mate stepped forward. I’d never seen her be so bold in my honor yet. A small sense of feeling crawled back into my skin. “If you will not send forces here to defend your people,”  _ your _ , not  _ ours _ , I noted, “then the artifact we requested-”

“Our half of the Book, child, does not leave our sacred place. It has not left those white walls since the day it was gifted as part of the Treaty. It will never leave those walls, not while we stand against the terrors in the North.”

Something inside Feyre... cracked then. Cracked the way her bones had when Amarntha slipped her fingers around her neck. I could feel it along the bond. And I felt here again now. But this time, it wasn’t her bones that broke. It was Feyre’s heart.

“Please,” she said, and then again when no one offered her anything. “Please. I was turned into  _ this _ \- into a faerie - because one of the commanders from Hybern  _ killed _ me.”

The bond went taut for half a second as Feyre pressed on that word, pressed on her death as she had for the Bone Carver, and in the weeks since. As she did now, spilling the passion and kindness for her family and the life she’d once had before the queens.

“For fifty years, she terrorized Prythian, and when I defeated her, when I freed its people, she  _ killed _ me. And before she did, I witnessed the horrors that she unleashed on human and faerie alike. One of them - just  _ one _ of them was able to cause such destruction and suffering. Imagine what an army like her might do. And now their king plans to use a weapon to shatter the wall, to destroy  _ all _ of you. The war will be swift, and brutal. And you will not win.” She gestured around the room - to us all. “ _ We _ will not win. Survivors will be slaves, and their children’s children will be slaves. Please...” She swallowed. Her hands were stiff and unyielding at her sides, but the bond between us shook with a fierce tremor. “Please, give us the other half of the Book.”

Feyre waited with bated breath as the two queens - the only ones bothering with us at all while the others sat idly by - exchanged glances, and the energy in the room shifted. Shifted toward Feyre and how they saw her.

“You are young, child,” the eldest queen said, like a mother to a newborn babe.  _ Child _ . It was worse than seeing Nesta of all people called a  _ girl _ . And it made my teeth wrench. “You have much to learn about the ways of the world-”

“Do not,” I said, reeling in a considerable amount of wrath from my tongue that yearned to defend my mate, “condescend to her.” The eldest queen’s brow flinched at me. There was... some satisfaction in it. “Do not insult Feyre for speaking with her heart, with compassion for those who cannot defend themselves, when you speak from only selfishness and cowardice.”

“For the greater good-”

“Many atrocities have been done in the name of the greater good.”

At the hands of  _ your _ kind - your ancestors before you, I silently added. The queen held my gaze. I wanted to shout at her. To rage and roar until they saw Feyre for the woman she was. That my mate should fail to impress them because  _ my _ stains upon history were... a disgrace.

But the old hag only grew wearier of this meeting. “The Book will remain with us. We will weather this storm-”

Morrigan shot to her feet.  _ The _ Morrigan. “That’s enough.” The entire world beyond those queens and their crowns fell silent as the Queen of the Hewn City leveled them all, dripping in her dress of crimson that recalled battles and blood of ages past.

“I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So you will hear my words now, and know them as truth - as your ancestors once did.” Mor pointed at Feyre, her own passion and heat blazing out of her as though born of divine inspiration. “Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a human has been made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian’s ambition and blood lust drove him mad, and drove them apart. Drove him to torture Clythia to death, then battle Amarantha until his own.” Her words cut on the memory. I could have sworn Az almost stepped forward. Cassian checked a brief glance on him. We both did as my cousin continued, allowing nothing and no one to stop her from her truth. “I marched back into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with her - my friend. Along with Prince Drakon’s legion. Miryam was my  _ friend _ , as Feyre is now. And your ancestors, those queens who signed that Treaty... They were my friends, too. And when I look at you...” Mor shook her head, her mouth flashing every one of her gleaming white teeth, “I see  _ nothing _ of those women in you. When I look at you, I know that your ancestors would be  _ ashamed _ .

Mor’s eyes were lined with red - anger, more than tears. Fools. Those queens would be such fools to dare refute her now.

“You laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our peoples?” Mor asked them. They did not move. Did not dare remove their eyes from her for one single moment. “There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea.” My stomach tightened. Azriel and Cassian both leaned subtly forward. Feyre searched the bond curiously. “A vast, lush island, shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live. With their children. With  _ both _ of their peoples.” Mor’s eyes shone. “Fae and human and those in between. Side by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world believe them dead-”

“Mor,” I said gently. My cousin’s eyes glistened. She wanted this  _ so damned badly _ . We all did. But any further and we might stray too far.

The queens knew it too, just looking at Mor and the somehow controlled mania that she’d taken on. At the end of the day, Amren would not be the only one with a new set of jewels to admire.

The queens considered silently. I wondered vaguely if they could communicate mentally somehow, given the winnowing. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they could.

“Give us proof,” the elder told me, dismissing Mor and all she’d said in a single pass.  _ Proof... _ I knew what they would need before they even asked it of me. And my body cried out  _ no _ . “If you are not the High Lord that rumor claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say - a male of peace.”

I stood, too disgusted and angry and tense to deal with them and their idiocy anymore. The inky black of my jacket swirled around my waist like a nighttime wind lingering about the stars as I moved, my mask guiding me upward. The queens rose with me.

“You desire proof?” I asked. Feyre stared at me wide-eyed. I didn’t want to know what Mor or the others were thinking. So I shrugged carelessly. “I shall get it for you. Await my word, and return when we summon you.”

“We are summoned by no one, human or faerie.” The young queen was a prison of ice as she readied to leave.

“Then come at your leisure,” I said, deigning to play her game at last, the damper on my powers threatening to rupture and let the demons loose. Cauldron, how I wanted to... “Perhaps then you’ll comprehend how vital the Book is to  _ both _ our efforts.”

Again, the elder exchanged places with the younger. The back and forth - so constant and unending - made my skin itch.

_ A game. It is a game _ .  _ This is no more than Amarantha’s court and you are called to service in the name of your crown. A game. It is a game. _

“We will consider it once we have your  _ proof _ ,” she said, cold and bitter to the last. “That book has been ours to protect for five hundred years. We will not hand it over without due consideration.”

I wondered, even with the proper motivation, if they would  _ ever _ hand it over. The cruel, cunning smirk on the young queen’s wretched mouth told me that no - they would not.

“Good luck,” she said, more a taunt than encouragement. And together, the fifteen members who came vanished just as suddenly. Feyre’s chest sunk, enough that I shifted toward her and wondered at how heavy the crown on her head might have felt just then. If it was too much. If she should want to wear it again after that, or consider her life easier without it.

But her gaze found her sisters first, as Elain crossed her arms, her own eyes ringed with the same red of vengeance Mor had bled, for a people she had never even met, and said what we were all surely thinking, “I hope they all burn in hell.”

xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave any feedback and/or join me on Tumblr. :)


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